


Hannibal

by KristenRoth



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cannibalism, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 14:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristenRoth/pseuds/KristenRoth
Summary: 'Hannibal' script.





	Hannibal

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimed as ever.

INT. PANEL VAN - DAY

Clarice Starling is dead, laid out in fatigues across a bench  
in the back of a ratty, rattling undercover van. Three other  
agents sit perched on the opposite bench, staring at her  
lifeless body.

BURKE  
How can she sleep at a time like this?

BRIGHAM  
She's on a jump-out squad all night;  
she's saving her strength.

INT. UNDERGROUND GARAGE - DAY

Gray cement walls blur past as the panel van descends a  
circular ramp to a lower level. As it straightens out, the  
view through the windshield reveals a gathering of men and  
vehicles - marked and unmarked DC police cars - and two black  
SWAT vans.

The panel van - with Marcell's Crab House painted on its  
sides - pulls to a stop. The back doors open from the inside  
and Starling is the first one out - well-rested and alert -  
hoisting down her equipment bag.

One of the DC policemen, the one whose girth and manner  
say he's in charge, watches the woman by the van slip into a  
Kevlar vest, drop a Colt .45 into a shoulder holster, and a  
.38 into an ankle holster. She straightens up, approaches  
the men and lays a street plan across the hood of one of  
their cars.

STARLING  
All right, everyone, pay attention.  
Here's the layout -

BOLTON  
Excuse me, I'm Officer Bolton, DC Police.

STARLING  
Yes, I can see that from your uniform  
and badge, how do you do?

BOLTON  
I'm in charge here.

Starling studies him a moment. He sniffs as if that might  
help confirm his weighty position.

STARLING  
You are?

BOLTON  
Yes, ma'am.

Starling's glance finds Brigham's. His says, Just let it  
go. Hers says back, I can't.

STARLING  
Officer Bolton, I'm Special Agent  
Starling, and just so we don't get off  
on the wrong foot, let me explain why  
we're all here.

Brigham shakes his head to himself in weary anticipation of  
her 'explanation.'

STARLING  
I'm here because I know Evelda Drumgo,  
I've arrested her twice on RICO warrants,  
I know how she thinks. DEA and BATF, in  
addition to backing me up, are here for  
the drugs and weapons. You're here, and  
it's the only reason you're here, because  
our mayor wants to appear tough on drugs,  
especially after his own cocaine  
conviction, and thinks he can accomplish  
that by the mere fact of having you tag  
along with us.

Silence as the gathering of agents and policemen stare at her  
and Bolton.

BOLTON  
You got a smart mouth, lady.

STARLING  
Officer, if you wouldn't mind, I'd  
appreciate it if you took a step or two  
back, you're in my light.

Bolton takes his time, but eventually backs away a step.

STARLING  
Thank you. All right.  
(re: the street plan)  
The fish market backs on the water.  
Across the street, ground floor, is the  
meth lab --

EXT. FISH MARKET AND STREETS - DAY

The Macarena blares from a boom box. Snappers, artfully  
arranged in schools on ice, stare up blankly. Crabs scratch  
at their crates. Lobsters climb over one another in tanks.

One of the black SWAT vans turns down a side street. The  
other takes an alley. The Marcell's Crab House van continues  
straight along Parcell Street.

INT. PANEL VAN - DAY

A 150-pound block of dry ice tries to cool down the heat  
from all the bodies in the van - Starling and Brigham, the  
two other agents, Burke and Hare, and her new best friend,  
Officer Bolton. As they drive along, Bolton watches as she  
takes several pairs of surgical gloves from her equipment  
bag, slips one pair on, and hands the rest to the others, the  
last pair offered to him.

STARLING  
Drumgo's HIV positive and she will spit  
and bite if she's cornered, so you might  
want to put these on.  
(Bolton takes the gloves and  
puts them on)  
And if you happen to be the one who  
puts her in a patrol car in front of the  
cameras, and I have a feeling you will  
be, you don't want to push her head down,  
she'll likely have a needle in her hair.

EXT. FISH MARKET AREA - DAY

The swat vans pull into position, one to the side of the  
building across from the fish market, the other around back.  
As the battered van pulls to the curb in front, a mint low-  
rider Impala convertible, stereo thumping, cruises past.

INT. PANEL VAN - DAY

The thumping fades, leaving the Macarena filtering in.  
Starling pulls the cover off the eyepiece of a periscope  
bolted to the ceiling of the van and makes a full rotation  
of the objective lens concealed in the roof ventilator, catching  
glimpses of:

A man with big forearms cutting up a mako shark with a  
curved knife, hosing the big fish down with a powerful hand-  
held spray.

Young men idling on a corner in front of a bar. Others  
lounging in parked cars, talking. Some children playing by  
a burning mattress on the sidewalk; others in the rainbow  
spray from the fishmonger's hose.

The building across from the fish market with the metal door  
above concrete steps. It opens.

STARLING  
Heads up.

A large white man in a luau shirt and sandals comes out  
with a satchel across his chest, other hand behind the case.  
A wiry black man comes out the door behind him, carrying a  
raincoat, and behind him, Evelda Drumgo.

STARLING  
It's her. Behind two guys. Both  
packing.

BRIGHAM  
(into a radio)  
Strike One to all units. Showdown.  
She's out front, we're moving.

Starling and the others put on their helmets. Brigham racks  
the slide of his riot gun. The back doors opena and Starling  
is the first one out, barking -

STARLING  
Down on the ground! Down on the ground!

No one gets down on the ground - not Evelda Drumgo, not her  
men, none of the merchants or bystanders. The Macarena keeps  
blaring.

Drumgo turns and Starling sees the baby in the blanketed  
sling around her neck. She can also hear the roar of a big  
V8 and hopes it's her backup.

Drumgo turns slightly and the baby blanket flutters as the  
MAC 10 under it fires, shattering Brigham's face shield. As  
he goes down, Hawaiian Shirt drops his satchel and fires a  
shotgun, blowing out the car window next to Burke.

Gunshots from the V8, a Crip gunship, a Cadillac, coming  
toward Starling. Two shooters, Cheyenne-style in the rolled-  
down window frames, spraying automatic fire over the top.

Starling dives behind two parked cars. Hare and Bolton  
fire from behind another. Auto glass shatters and clangs on  
the ground.

Everyone in the market scrambling for cover, finally hitting  
the fish-bloodied cement. The Macarena still blasting.

Pinned down, Starling watches the wiry black man drop back  
against the building, Drumgo picks up the satchel, the gunship  
slowing enough for someone to pull her in.

Starling stands and fires several shots, taking out Hawaiian  
Shirt, the other man by the building, the driver of the accel-  
erating Cadillac, one of the men perched on the window frames  
\- drops the magazine out of her .45 slams another in  
before the empty hits the ground.

The Cadillac goes out of control, sideswiping a line of  
cars, grinds to a stop against them. Starling moving toward  
it now, following the sight of her gun. A shooter still  
sitting in a window frame, alive but trapped, chest  
compressed between the Cadillac and a parked car. Gunfire  
from somewhere behind Starling hits him and shatters the rear  
window.

STARLING  
Hold it! Hold your fire! Watch the door  
behind me! Evelda!

The firing stops but the pounding of The Macarena doesn't.

STARLING  
Evelda! Put your hands out the window!

Nothing for a moment. Then Drumgo emerges from the car, head  
down, hands buried in the blanket-sling, cradling the crying  
baby.

STARLING  
Show me your hands!  
(Evelda doesn't)  
Please! Show me your hands!

Evelda looks up at her finally, fondly it seems, doesn't show  
her hands.

DRUMGO  
Is that you, Starling?

STARLING  
Show me your hands!

DRUMGO  
How you been?

STARLING  
Don't do this!

DRUMGO  
Do what?

She smiles sweetly. The blanket flutters. Starling falls.  
Fires high enough to miss the baby. Hits Drumgo in the neck.  
She goes down.

Starling crawling in the street, the wind knocked out of  
her from the hits to her chest, to her vest. Reaches Drumgo,  
blood gushing out of her onto the baby. She pulls out a  
knife. Cuts the harness straps. Runs with the baby to the  
merchant stalls as enterprising tourists click shots from the  
ground with disposable cameras.

Starling sweeps away knives and fish guts from a cutting  
table. Lays the baby down. Strips it. Grabs the handheld  
sprayer and washes at the slick coating of HIV positive blood  
covering the baby, a shark's head staring, Macarena pounding,  
disposable cameras clicking, the river of bloody water  
running along a gutter to where Brigham lies dead.

EXT. ARLINGTON CEMETERY - DAY

Gray sky. Rain coming down. A large gathering, many in  
uniform, standing in wet grass around an open grave, the rain  
spilling off the rims of their umbrellas.

A casket is being lowered in. Starling watches as it  
decends, watches the gears of the hoist working and the box  
disappearing beneath the edge of the muddy hole, not allowing  
herself to cry, or to meet the eyes of certain other mourners  
watching her.

EXT. ARLINGTON CEMETERY - LATER - DAY

Long line of parked cars, some marked, most not, many with  
government plates. Smoke plumes from the exhaust of the one  
idling nearest, a Crown Victoria.

Inside the car, Starling sits in the front passenger seat  
with a cardboard box on her lap, a middle-aged man in Marine  
dress blues beside her at the wheel. The wipers slap back  
and forth.

HAWKINS  
You like to think when it's over your  
things would fill more than one cardboard  
box.

Starling touches the things in the box: a BATF badge, a  
couple of laminated clip-on ID cards with Brigham's face on  
them, a medal, a pen set, a compass paper-weight, two guns  
and a framed desk photo of a dog.

HAWKINS  
John's parents don't want it. Any of  
it. Except the dog. Don't want to be  
reminded.

STARLING  
I want to be reminded.

HAWKINS  
I figured. He was your last compadre on  
the street, wasn't he.

STARLING  
My last compadre.

He sits watching her touch the things, and will continue to  
do so as long as she wants. Eventually, she folds down the  
cardboard flaps. Hawkins looks up ahead -

HAWKINS  
All they'll get with tinted windows is  
pictures of themselves, but it won't stop  
them from trying. You ready?

She is. He pulls away from the curb. A handful of wet  
photographers appears in the windshield's view up ahead. As  
the car passes, their cameras swing around to point at  
Starling's side of it and flash like stars.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - FBI DC FIELD OFFICE - DAY

The words "Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity" skew as a glass  
door opens. Starling comes in to find several men awaiting  
her, all balanced on Florsheim wingtips and tasseled Thom  
McAn loafers.

PEARSALL  
Agent Starling, this is John Eldredge  
from DEA; Assistant Director Noonan, of  
course you know; Larkin Wayne, from our  
Office of Professional Responsibility;  
Bob Sneed, BATF; Benny Holcome, Assistant  
to the Mayor; and Paul Krendler - you  
know Paul. Paul's come over from Justice  
\- unofficially - as a favor to us. In  
other words, he's here and he's not here.

A couple of the men bobbed their heads at the mention of  
their names; none offered his hand. Starling sits a thin  
manila folder on her lap. A silence stretches out as each  
man regards her. Finally -

SNEED  
I take it you've seen the coverage in  
the papers and on television.  
(nothing from Starling)  
Agent Starling?

STARLING  
I have nothing to do with the news, Mr.  
Sneed.

SNEED  
The woman had a baby in her arms. There  
are pictures. You can see the problem.

STARLING  
Not in her arms, in a sling across her  
chest. In her arms, she had a MAC 10.  
Mr. Pearsall? This is a friendly  
meeting, right?

PEARSALL  
Absolutely.

STARLING  
Then why is Mr. Sneed wearing a wire?

Pearsall glances to Sneed and his tie clasp. Sneed sighs.

SNEED  
We're here to help you, Starling.  
That's going to be harder to do with a  
combative attitude like -

STARLING  
Help me what? Your agency called this  
office and got me assigned to help you on  
the raid. I gave Drumgo a chance - two  
chances - to surrender. She didn't. She  
fired. She shot John Brigham. She shot  
at me. And I shot her. In that order.  
You might want to check your counter  
right there, where I admit it.

A silence before the man from the Mayor's Office speaks up -

HOLCOME  
Ms. Starling, did you make some kind  
of inflammatory remark about Ms. Drumgo  
in the van on the way?

STARLING  
Is that what your Officer Bolton is  
saying?  
(he chooses not to say)  
I explained to him, and the others in  
the van, that Drumgo was HIV positive and  
would think nothing of infecting them,  
and me, any way she could given the  
chance. If that's inflamma -

HOLCOME  
Did you also say to him at one point  
that a splash of Canoe is not the same  
as a shower?  
(she doesn't answer)  
Did Officer Bolton smell bad to you?

STARLING  
Incompetence smells bad to me.

HOLCOME  
You shot five people out there, Agent  
Starling. That may be some kind of  
record. Is that how you define  
competence?

A beeper goes off. Every one of the men checks the little  
box on his belt. It's Noonan's. He excuses himself from the  
room.

STARLING  
Can I speak freely, Mr. Pearsall?  
(he nods)  
This raid was an ugly mess. I ended  
up in a position where I had a choice of  
dying, or shooting a woman carrying a  
child. I chose. I shot her -

FLASHCUT to Drumgo - hit in the neck by Starling's bullet -  
silently falling to the ground -

STARLING  
I killed a mother holding her child.  
The lower animals don't do that. And I  
regret it. I resent myself for it. But  
I resent you, too - whichever of you  
thinks that by attacking me, bad press  
will go away. That Waco will go away. A  
mayor's drug habit. All of it.

FLASHCUT to Drumgo, lying dead in the road, then back here  
again to Starling, "watching" her in silence.

Noonan pokes his head in, gestures to Pearsall to join him  
in the anteroom. Krendler invites himself along. Sneed and  
Holcome get up and stare out the window. Eldredge paces, his  
wingtips soundlessy dragging on the carpet.

WAYNE  
I know you haven't had a chance to write  
your 302 yet, Starling, but -

STARLING  
I have, sir. A copy's on its way to  
your office. I also have a copy with me  
if you want to review it now. Everything  
I did and saw.

She hands it to him. He begins leafing through it.  
Pearsall and Krendler reappear -

PEARSALL  
Assistant Director Noonan is on his way  
back to his office, Gentlemen. I'm going  
to call a halt to this meeting and get  
back to you individually by phone.

Sneed cocks his head like a confused dog.

SNEED  
We've got to decide some things here.

PEARSALL  
No, we don't.

SNEED  
Clint -

PEARSALL  
Bob, believe me, we don't have to decide  
anything right this second. I said I'll  
get back to you.  
(Pearsall's look to Starling  
says she's free to leave; she  
gets up)  
And, Bob?

Pearsall grabs the wire behind Sneed's tie and pulls it down  
hard, the adhesive tape taking some chest hair along with it -  
judging from the grimace - as it comes away from his skin.

PEARSALL  
You ever come in here wired again, I'll  
stick it up your ass.

INT. HALL OUTSIDE - MOMENTS LATER

Krendler - the only man who didn't speak in the meeting -  
idles outside. As Starling approaches -

KRENDLER  
That was no free lunch, Starling.  
I'll call you.

She keeps going. He admires the back of her legs.

EXT. COUNTRY CLUB - MIAMI - DAY

Jack Crawford misses a 20-foot putt by inches.

GOLF PAL  
Oh ... bad luck, Jack.

Crawford stares at the missed shot. Then spikes across the  
18th green, taps it in, and groans the way anyone over forty  
does as he bends down to retrieve it.

Pocketing it he turns, sees Starling standing outside the  
club house. She waves, bending just a couple of fingers, and  
he smiles, pleased, but not surprised to see her.

EXT. MIAMI - DAY

Crawford and Starling driving in his car, the clubs in the  
back seat. Palm trees float by.

STARLING  
What's your handicap?

CRAWFORD  
My handicap is I can't play golf.

STARLING  
Maybe better clubs would help.

CRAWFORD  
I play with the best clubs money can buy.  
It's not the clubs, it's a woeful lack of  
talent.

STARLING  
Or interest.

He nods - yeah, that's the real problem with it - turns onto  
another street.

CRAWFORD  
Were my flowers at John's service okay?  
Lot of times, flowers by wire, you never  
know.

STARLING  
They were canary daffodils.  
(he groans)  
I put your name on my flowers.

CRAWFORD  
Thank you.

STARLING  
Thank you. For the call. At the  
Inquisition. I don't know what you said  
to them, but it worked.

CRAWFORD  
Don't thank me too quickly.

EXT. MIAMI - DAY

Downtown. Skyscrapers.

INT. BUILDING - DAY

Frameless glass doors in a sleek office building, etched:  
Allied Security, Threat Assessment, Miami, Los Angeles, Rio  
de Janeiro. Crawford holds one open for Starling and  
follows her into a handsome reception area.

RECEPTIONIST  
How was it? Better today?

CRAWFORD  
The clubs are in the dumpster downstairs  
if anyone wants them.

He leads Starling deeper into the place, past pairs of men  
in nice suits conferring in the doorway of a kitchenette and  
over by a long bank of filing cabinets. Male and female  
secretaries move about.

CRAWFORD  
Nice, huh? This could all be yours,  
Starling. I can get you a PI ticket in  
Florida tomorrow, you can chase insurance  
scams, extortion against the cruise  
lines, put down the gun and have some fun  
with me.

Crawford accepts a handful of pink phone-message slips as  
they come past his secretary's desk, holds another door open  
and Starling steps into his office.

STARLING  
Tempting.

CRAWFORD  
Just wait.

The door closing softly behind her says, "expensive  
hardware."

INT. CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - DAY

They sit, Crawford behind his mahogany desk, Starling in a  
comfortable chair. As he rifles through the phone  
messages -

CRAWFORD  
The call I made wasn't to Assistant  
Director Noonan. Whoever called him, I  
don't know. I called Mason Verger.

He lets the name sink in, lets her dive for it, try to  
place it. She can't. It's familiar but doesn't connect to  
anything stable.

CRAWFORD  
Lecter's fourth victim, Starling.  
The one who lived, if you can call it  
living. The rich one.

He slides over a couple of photographs of a young man with a  
kind, trusting face. Now she remembers him.

CRAWFORD  
I told Mason I wanted you off the  
street. I told him what I told you when  
I left the Bureau, "You go out with a gun  
enough times, you will be killed by one."  
I told him I want you where you belong,  
in Behavioral Science. Know what he said?

STARLING  
He can speak?

CRAWFORD  
It's about the only thing he can do.  
He said, after a very long pause, "Oh,  
what a good idea, Jack."  
(Crawford tries to smile)  
Who he called, I don't know. Someone  
higher up than anyone in that room with  
you. Maybe Representative Vollmer, who  
Mason may not own, but does rent from  
time to time.

Silence as Starling tries to take it all in. She looks up  
with a question forming in her mind, and Crawford nods before  
she can say it. Very matter of fact -

CRAWFORD  
Yeah, that's right, it means going back  
on the Lecter case.

He busies himself with the phone messages again, arranging  
them in little, prioritized piles on his desk, as if perhaps  
this conversation is about nothing more important than a  
simple missing person case.

STARLING  
What if I said to you I'd rather not  
do that? What if I said to you I prefer  
the street?

CRAWFORD  
You think this is a cheap deal? What  
you were getting was a cheap deal. What  
they say about federal examiners is true:  
they arrive after the battle and bayonet  
the wounded. You're not safe on the  
street anymore.

Starling takes another look at the photographs of Verger.

STARLING  
Has something happened on the case?

CRAWFORD  
Has Lecter killed anybody lately? I  
wouldn't know, I'm retired from all that.  
Mason doesn't know either, but he does  
apparently have some new information -  
which he'll only share with you.

They consider one another for a long moment. Finally -

CRAWFORD  
He's not pretty, Starling. And I don't  
just mean his face.

EXT. MARYLAND - DAY

Bare trees. Overcast sky. Starling's Mustang growling along  
the rain-slicked expressway.

INT. MUSTANG - MOVING - DAY

A Maryland state map spread out across the passenger seat.  
Starling's eyes darting back and forth between the black and  
red route-veins and the shrouded countryside out beyond the  
slapping wiper blades.

An exit sign - and the exit itself - looms suddenly and  
rushes across the right side of her windshield. She curses  
to herself. It's the exit she wanted, but now it's gone,  
shrinking in her rearview mirror into the mist.

EXT. THE VERGER ESTATE - DAY

Coming back the other way along a service road, Starling  
slows to consider a chain-link gate stretched across a muddy  
road, then continues on.

At the gate house of the main entrance, a security guard  
checks her name against a list. He seems reluctant to get  
himself or his clipboard wet, but not her identification,  
handing it out past the edge of his umbrella to her.

The Mustang negotiates a long circuitous drive, taking her  
deeper and deeper into vast forest land. Eventually, though,  
a good mile from the gate house behind her, the trees give  
way to a clearing, and she sees the big Stanford White-  
designed mansion emerging from the mist up ahead.

A man waits under an umbrella out front, indicates to her  
where to park - anywhere, one should think - there's enough  
space for fifty cars - then comes around to the driver's side  
and opens the door.

CORDELL  
Ms. Starling. Hi. I'm Cordell. Mr.  
Verger's private physician.

STARLING  
How do you do?

She gathers her things out from under the map: file folder,  
micro-cassette recorder, extra tapes and batteries. He helps  
her out, then presses up against her to help maximize the  
umbrella's effectiveness.

CORDELL  
Shall we make a run for it?

As they hurry toward the porch - if it can be called a  
porch, as grand an entrance as a king's, or English rock  
star's manor - Starling notices the building's one modern  
wing, sticking out like an extra limb attached in some  
grotesque medical experiment.

INT. VERGER'S MANSION - DAY

They cross through a living room larger than most houses,  
then down a hall, their shoes moving along a Moroccan runner,  
sleeves past portraits of important-looking dead people.

As they cross a threshold there's an abrupt shear in style:  
the rich carpet giving way to polished institutional floors,  
the portrait-lined walls to shiny white enamel.

Cordell reaches for the handle of a closed door in the new  
wing, and Starling notices line of lights appear around the  
jamb where there were none.

As the door opens, she squints. Two small photographer's  
spots on stands pitch narrow beams of light into her face and  
seem to follow her progress into the room.

CORDELL  
(a whisper)  
One's eyes adjust to the darkness.  
This way is better.

He leads her to a sitting area where a print of William  
Blake's "The Ancient of Days" hangs above a large aquarium  
divided in two by a wall of glass - an ell gliding around on  
one side, a fish on the other. A bank of security monitors  
completes the decor. To the spotlight -

CORDELL  
Mr. Verger, Ms. Starling is here.

The light stands flank a hospital bed, the beams effectively  
camouflaging the figure on it in their glare.

STARLING  
Good morning, Mr. Verger.

MASON  
Cordell, do you address a judge as Mr?

The voice is steady and resonant. An "educated" voice, not  
unlike Lecter's. Before Cordell can answer him -

MASON  
Agent Starling is her proper title,  
not "Ms."

CORDELL  
Agent Starling.

MASON  
Correct. Good morning, Agent Starling.  
Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.

STARLING  
Thank you.

Starling sits with her things. Snaps open the little door of  
her cassette recorder to verify there's a tape inside.

MASON  
Was that a Mustang I heard out there?

STARLING  
Yes, it was.

MASON  
Five-liter?

STARLING  
'88 Stroker.

MASON  
Fast.

STARLING  
Yes.

MASON  
Where'd you get it?

STARLING  
Dope auction.

MASON  
Very good.

STARLING  
Mr. Verger, the discussion we're going  
to have is in the nature of a deposition.  
I'll need to tape record it if that's all  
right with you.

MASON  
Cordell, I think you can leave us now.

CORDELL  
I thought I might stay. Perhaps I could  
be useful if -

MASON  
You could be useful seeing about my  
lunch.

Starling gets up, but not to see him out. Once he's gone -

STARLING  
I'd like to attach this microphone to  
your - clothing, or pillow - if you're  
comfortable with that.

MASON  
By all means.

She walks slowly toward the bed, or rather to the lights,  
uncertain exactly what position Verger may be in - on his  
back, his side; she has no way of knowing.

MASON  
Here, this should make it easier.

A finger like a pale spider crab moves along the sheet and  
depresses a button. The lights suddenly extinguish and  
Starling's pupils dilate. As her eyes adjust to the darkness  
Verger's face materializes in it like something dead rising  
up through dark water:

Face is the wrong word. He has no face to speak of. No  
skin, at least. Teeth he has. He looks like some kind of  
creature that resides in the lowest depths of the sea.

She doesn't flinch. Maybe the hand with the microphone  
recoils an inch or two, but that's it. She clips it to the  
flannel lapel of his pajamas, drapes the skinny cord over the  
side of the pillow and sets the recorder on the medical table  
next to the bed.

MASON  
You know, I thank God for what happened.  
It was my salvation. Have you accepted  
Jesus, Agent Starling? Do you have  
faith?

STARLING  
I was raised Lutheran.

MASON  
That's not what I asked -

STARLING  
This is Special Agent Clarice Starling,  
FBI number 5143690, deposing Mason R.  
Verger, Social Security number -

MASON  
\- 475-98-9823 -

STARLING  
\- at his home on the date stamped above,  
sworn and attested.  
(she drags over a chair)  
Mr. Verger, you claim to have -

MASON  
I want to tell you about summer camp.  
It was a wonderful childhood experience -

STARLING  
We can get to that later. The -

MASON  
We can get to it now. You see, it all  
comes to bear, it's where I met Jesus and  
I'll never tell you anything more impor-  
tant than that. It was a Christian camp  
my father paid for. Paid for the whole  
thing, all 125 campers on Lake Michigan.  
Many of them were unfortunate, cast-off  
little boys and girls would do anything  
for a candy bar. Maybe I took advantage  
of that. Maybe I was rough with them -

STARLING  
Mr. Verger, I don't need to know about  
the sex offenses. I just -

MASON  
It's all right. I have immunity, so  
it's all right now. I have immunity from  
the U.S. Attorney. I have immunity from  
the D.A. in Owings Mills. I have  
immunity from the Risen Jesus and nobody  
beats the Riz.

STARLING  
What I'd like to know is if you'd ever  
seen Dr. Lecter before the court assigned  
you to him for therapy?

MASON  
You mean - socially?  
(laughs)

STARLING  
That is what I mean, yes. Weren't you  
both on the board of the Baltimore Phil-  
harmonic?

MASON  
Oh, no, my seat was just because my  
family contributed. I sent my lawyer  
when there was a vote.

STARLING  
Then I'm not sure I understand how he  
ended up at your house that night, if  
you don't mind talking about it.

MASON  
Not at all. I'm not ashamed.

STARLING  
I didn't say you should be.

MASON  
I invited him, of course. He was too  
professional to just sort of "drop in."  
I answered the door in my nicest come-  
hither leather outfit.

FLASHCUT of the door opening, revealing Verger, in his  
leather gear, his face young and pretty.

MASON  
I was concerned he'd be afraid of me,  
but he didn't seem to be. Afraid of me;  
that's funny now.

FLASHCUT of Verger leading Lecter upstairs, each with a glass  
of wine in hand.

MASON  
I showed him my toys, my noose set-up  
among other things - where you sort of  
hang yourself but not really. It feels  
good while you - you know.

FLASHCUT to some dogs watching Verger with the noose around  
his neck, and Lecter offering him some amyl nitrite.

MASON  
Anyway - he said, Would you like a  
popper, Mason? I said, Would I. And  
whoa, once that kicked in I knew it was  
more than simple amyl, it was some kind  
of custom meth-angel-acid highball.  
Lovely. I was flying -

FLASHBACK to Mason's image in a full-length mirror shattering  
as Lecter kicks it.

MASON'S VOICE  
The good doctor came over with a piece  
of broken mirror. Mason, he said -

LECTER  
\- show me how you smile to get the  
confidence of a child.

Lecter holds a shard of mirror glass in front of him.

LECTER  
Uh-huh. Do you ever smile? Oh, I see  
how you do it.  
Now Mason, let's say you had to hide  
that kindly, fictitious mask? How would  
you do it?

Verger tries to look serious, or mean, but his features are  
just too sweet, even with a noose around his neck.

LECTER  
No, I still see it. Try again.  
(Verger tries again)  
No. No, I'm afraid not. Try this.  
(hands him the glass)  
Try peeling off your face with this and  
feeding it to the dogs.

As Verger lifts the broken glass to his face -

BACK TO the faceless Verger in the bed, his claw of a hand  
gripping invisible glass -

MASON  
Well, you know the rest.  
(shrugs)  
Seemed like a good idea at the time.

Starling looks like someone who has just received much more  
information than she ever needed or wanted. Cordell comes in  
quietly with Verger's lunch on a rolling cart, and trying not  
to interrupt, arranges the silverware and pours some water.

STARLING  
Mr. Verger, you -

MASON  
Are you shocked, Agent S?

STARLING  
You indicated to -  
(her eyes dart to the tape, and  
his follow them)  
\- to my office - that you've received  
some kind of new information.

MASON  
Look in the drawer of the end table.

Starling takes out a pair of thin cotton gloves and puts  
them on. In the drawer she finds a large manila envelope and  
in it, an x-ray of an arm.

STARLING  
Where did this come from?

MASON  
Buenos Aires. I received it two weeks  
ago.

STARLING  
Where's the package it came in?

MASON  
The package it came in... good question.  
I don't know. There was nothing written  
on it of interest. Did I throw it out?

Starling smells a rat, but keeps it to herself. Takes a  
closer look at the x-ray while Cordell busies himself climb-  
ing a step ladder next to the aquarium.

MASON  
Think it will help? I hope so. I hope  
it'll help you catch him, if for no other  
reason than to heal the stigma of your  
recent dishonor.

She switches off the tape recorder.

STARLING  
Thank you, that's all I -

MASON  
Did you feel some rapport with Dr.  
Lecter in your talks at the asylum?  
I know I did while I was peeling.

STARLING  
We exchanged information in a civil way.

MASON  
But always through the glass.

STARLING  
Yes.

MASON  
The eel and fish become accustomed to  
each other through the glass. They're  
even company for one another.

Cordell's gloved hand grips the snapper and transfers it to  
the other side of the aquarium, where the eel at once rips a  
piece out of it. Starling tries to ignore it and reaches to  
unclip the microphone from Verger's pajames lapel.

MASON  
Isn't it funny?

Nothing is particularly funny to her right now.

STARLING  
What's that?

MASON  
You can look at my face, but you shied  
when I said the name of God.

INT. EVIDENCE STORAGE - QUANTICO - DAY

A clerk is cataloging strange items from another case as  
Starling inspects what he brought her on Lecter. There's not  
much there. One cardboard box-worth, some files, video tape.

CLERK  
Not finding what you want?

STARLING  
Are you sure this is all of it?

CLERK  
That's all of it now. There used to be  
more, but it's been picked over little by  
little over the years. It's worth a lot  
of money in certain circles. Like the  
cocaine that disappears around here.  
Little by little.

INT. BASEMENT - BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE - DAY

The room Starling's been given to work out of used to be  
the department's basement darkroom. There's almost nothing  
in it now. Couple of old enlargers, chemical trays, an ugly  
rented couch, a metal desk, a computer, and a blackboard on  
wheels she has chalked with the headings "Lecter" and  
"Verger," a few scribbled notes under each name.

She's taken the video tape from the paltry contents of the  
evidence box and puts in in a VCR. In a moment, a scene in  
black and white, captured by a security camera at the  
Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, plays out  
in silence:

Lecter wired up for an EKG. A female nurse getting too  
close. Lecter attacking her. Biting her. A black orderly  
rushing in and roughly subduing him, breaking his arm in the  
process, then attending to the fallen nurse.

INT. BASEMENT - BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE - LATER

A cursor blinks in a search panel. Starling types in  
"Hannibal Lecter," enters it and waits.

The laptop screen fills with a listing of sites, the first  
20 of 611,046, according to the engine. A banner to one side  
offers, "Amazon.com ... Hannibal Lec ... Save up to 50% ...  
Shop-4-Pokemon."

One of the listings is the FBI's own consumer site, others  
refer to published articles by and about Lecter, but most  
have names like, "Hannibal's Chamber of Horrors," and  
"Fava Beans Anyone?"

Starling scrolls down to the bottom query panel to narrow  
her search. Adds, "memorabilia," and hits Enter. The screen  
fills with another listing of sites, like, "Kenny's Trading  
Post," and, "World Wide Collectibles," with brief  
descriptions of some of the wares offered:

"Credit card receipt from Dean & DeLuca w/genuine signature  
of Hannibal Lecter, $550 OBO / PP."

"Mark McGuire 1998 season home run ball (#67), w/papers,  
all reasonable offers considered."

"Flatware w/etched lions on handles, owned by Hannibal  
Lecter. 24 pieces, one spoon missing. Real. No dealers.  
$6,500."

"Hockey, basketball (and non-sports) trading cards."

"Lecter victim (#3) Sam Sirrah's death certificate. Not a  
Xerox. Nice frame. Price upon request."

"Hannibal Lecter's '62 Mercedes. Really. Only two owners  
since incarceration. Clean. 85,000."

"Valentine card from H. Lecter. Signed. Sweet sentiment.  
Hate to part with it but need money. $950."

No x-rays. Starling thinks. Clears the address in the top  
panel and types something else. A new screen appears, headed  
with bold, colorful lettering: "eBay."

She types in "Hannibal Lecter" again. Hits the "Find it!"  
button. An auction screen appears. 14 items. "H. Lecter x-  
ray" second from the top. "Item #194482661." 61 bidders.  
In red: "Ends in 49 Mins."

She highlights the item and is taken to the details screen.  
Scrolls down. No photo, but there is a description: "Left  
arm x-ray of Hannibal Lecter. Very rare. Slightly used  
metal light box included."

She backs up to the previous screen. Last bid, "$7,200."  
Next increment, $100. She types in "$10,000" and hits Enter.

INT. SCI-FI COMICS - DAY

Strange denizens - collectors - roam the shelves lined with  
plastic-sheathed science fiction comic books - browsing and  
humming - each in his own world.

In truth, they're not really browsing; they're stealing  
glances at Starling, the only woman in the place, and the  
most beautiful one any of them has ever seen in real life.

In truth, she isn't really browsing either. She's stealing  
glances at the proprietor behind the glass-top, trading card-  
filled, counter.

CUSTOMER  
December you mean -

PROPRIETOR  
No, not December. November. Volume  
Four, Number Four. Worst. Issue. Ever.

The customer moves on. Starling wanders over and several  
pairs of eyes wander with her. A tape of the X-Files plays  
on a small television set at one end of the counter, which  
the proprietor pays more attention to than her. Quietly -

STARLING  
I'm interested in Hannibal Lecter  
memorabilia.

The man's head slowly turns to her with the most withering  
of looks. She's the last person on earth who'd be interested  
in Hannibal Lecter memorabilia.

PROPRIETOR  
I don't handle Hannibal Lecter  
memorabilia. Hannibal Lecter memorabilia  
\- real Hannibal Lecter memorabilia -  
would have to be stolen. I don't deal in  
stolen goods. Try Sotheby's.

STARLING  
I'm confused.

PROPRIETOR  
You're a policeman, of course you're  
confused.

STARLING  
Not exactly.

PROPRIETOR  
Oh, all right. Police woman. I keep  
the politically-correct comics in the  
back. By the toilet scrubber.

She show him her identification. Her FBI shield. Some  
of the other customers see it, too, and - crushed - begin  
gliding toward the door.

STARLING  
I'm confused because I just paid you ten  
thousand dollars for an x-ray of Hannibal  
Lecter. I don't want to wait for you to  
send it, I want to pick it up now.

The dime drops. Just a fleeting spark of realization.

PROPRIETOR  
No, if you paid me ten thousand dollars  
for an x-ray of Hannibal Lector, I would  
possess a money order, or cashiers check,  
for ten thousand dollars, which I do not.  
You bid ten thousand dollars for an  
x-ray of Hannibal Lecter. I've decided,  
in the interim, not to sell it. You're  
free to write a nasty comment about me  
on the e-Bay message board.

STARLING  
I'm free to write a nasty comment about  
you on your arrest report.

PROPRIETOR  
(sighs)  
The x-ray I was thinking of selling,  
but have now decided against, is not of  
Hannibal Lecter. How do I know this?  
Because it's of me. This arm.  
(pointing to it, then to the  
other one)  
No, this one.

Now she sighs. She should just leave.

PROPRIETOR  
Wait a minute. I know you.  
(he brightens considerably)  
You're -

He rummages behind the counter and comes up with a recent,  
plastic-wrapped issue of the National Tattler tabloid, with  
gory pictures of the shoot-out and the screaming headline -  
"DEATH ANGEL: CLARICE STARLING, THE FBI'S KILLING MACHINE."

PROPRIETOR  
Would you be so kind, Miss Starling,  
as to sign this for me? I apologize for  
my - um - my -

CUSTOMER'S VOICE (O.S.)  
Rude -

PROPRIETOR  
Rude - behavior - before.

He delicately slips the newspaper from its plastic cover.  
Checks the condition of the tip of a fine-line Sharpie. His  
eyes are eager now, his demeanor painfully solicitous, like a  
sweetly disarming little boy waiting for the baseball players  
to finish batting practive. Starling turns and leaves.

EXT. MARYLAND-MISERACORDIA GENERAL HOSPITAL - DAY

A wailing siren. Ambulance pulling up in front of an  
Emergency Entrance. Paramedics climb out, hoist down a  
gurney and the bleeding gunshot victim on in, and hurry him  
in past the automatic doors. The doors thump shut.

A moment later they open again and an orderly - same one  
from the tape - steps out, finished with his shift, coat over  
his uniform. He hitches up his collar and steps out into the  
drizzling rain as Starling, across the street in a hooded  
sweatshirt, watches.

EXT. STREETS - LATER - DAY

The orderly moves along a wet sidewalk, heading home,  
Starling following at a distance. He stops. She stops. He  
glances to something in the middle of the street. A dead  
dove, one wing fluttering in the wind. He looks up. Sees  
its mate pacing on a wire. Car tires hiss past below.

Starling watches as he crosses to the center of the street,  
picks up the dead dove and pockets it, crosses back and  
continues on. She, and the surviving bird, follow.

INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - UPSTAIRS HALL - DAY

Starling knocks. Waits. The door opens and the orderly  
peers out with the dead dove in his hands.

STARLING  
Hi, Barney. I need to talk with -

BARNEY  
Would you agree, for the record, Officer  
Starling, I've not been read my rights?

STARLING  
This is just informal. I just need to  
ask you about some stuff.

BARNEY  
How about saying it into your handbag?

Starling opens her purse and speaks down into it as though  
there were a troll inside -

STARLING  
I have not Mirandized Barney. He is  
unaware of his rights.

Barney widens the door so she can come in.

INT. BARNEY'S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS

Barney sets the dove on a desk and drags a computer mouse  
to the "file close" x. Just before the screen reverts to the  
AOL Welcome page, Starling glimpses the site he was on when  
she interrupted him with her knock - stock quotes.

STARLING  
How you been?

He doesn't answer. Sits his huge frame down on his desk  
chair. She moves some newspapers aside on a couch, one of  
which shows a photo of her from the Drumgo raid. They  
consider each other for a moment. Eventually -

STARLING  
Barney, back when you turned Dr. Lecter  
over to the Tennessee Police -

BARNEY  
They weren't civil to him. And they're  
all dead now.

STARLING  
Yeah. They only managed to survive his  
company three days. You survived him six  
years at the asylum. How'd you do that?  
It wasn't just being civil.

BARNEY  
Yes, it was.

They both hear something - a flutter - and glance out to the  
fire escape. The dead dove's mate has landed on the railing.

STARLING  
Did you ever think, once he escaped,  
he might come after you?

BARNEY  
No. He told me once that, whenever  
feasible, he preferred to eat the rude.  
"Free-range rude," he called them.

He smiles. Glances out the window again to the cooing dove.  
Picks up the dead one, carries it out and sets it down on the  
wet grating.

STARLING  
Any idea what happened to all his stuff?  
His books and papers and drawings and -

BARNEY  
Everything got thrown out when the place  
closed.

He comes back in. She starts to say something, hesitates.  
Once she starts on this subject, she knows one of them will  
wind up very unhappy.

STARLING  
Barney, I just found out that Dr.  
Lecter's signed copy of The Joy of  
Cooking went to a private collector for  
sixteen thousand dollars.

BARNEY  
It was probably a fake.

STARLING  
The seller's affidavit of ownership  
was signed, Karen Phlox. You know Karen  
Phlox? You should. "She" filled out  
your employment application, only at the  
bottom she signed it, Barney. Same thing  
on your tax returns.

Long silence. Then Barney sighs.

BARNEY  
You want the book? Maybe I could get  
it back.

STARLING  
I want the x-ray. From when you broke  
his arm after he attacked that nurse.

Barney gets up again, but doesn't run off to get it. He  
slowly paces around.

BARNEY  
We talked about a lot of things, late at  
night, after all the screaming died down.  
We talked about you sometimes. Want to  
know what he said?

STARLING  
No, just the x-ray.

BARNEY  
Is there a reward?

STARLING  
Yeah. The reward is I don't have my  
friend the Postal Inspector nail you on  
Use of the Mails to Defraud, you don't  
get ten years, and you don't come out  
with a janitor's job and a room at the Y,  
sitting on the side of your bunk at night  
listening to yourself cough.

He stares at her, gets up finally, disappears into the  
bedroom. Starling looks out to the fire escape again. The  
surviving dove has dropped down and is now walking in circles  
around its lifeless mate.

Barney returns with a file box and a large envelope. Hands  
it all to her. She unfurls the string-clasp. Pulls out an x-  
ray of an arm. A radiologist's and Lecter's names are on it.

BARNEY  
I'm not a bad guy.

STARLING  
I didn't say you were.

BARNEY  
Dr. Chilton is a bad guy. After your  
first visit, he began taping your conver-  
sations with Dr. Lecter.

He produces from his jacket pocket several cassette tapes.  
As he hands them to her -

BARNEY  
I was good to you. Tried to make it  
easy for you the first time you came down  
to the violent ward to interview Dr.  
Lecter. Remember?

STARLING  
Yes.

BARNEY  
You remember saying thank you?

She doesn't because she didn't, and now regrets it.

STARLING  
I'm sorry. Thank you.

BARNEY  
You mean it?

STARLING  
Yes.

BARNEY  
I'm going to show you something then.  
I don't have to show it to you, remember  
that. But I believe your gratitude is  
sincere.

He goes to a fuse box on the wall. Takes something out of  
it. Turns around to face Starling, wearing the famous mask  
from Silence of the Lambs, and her hand flashes toward her  
sidearm, a movement quickly stopped.

BARNEY  
This is my retirement fund.  
(removes the mask)  
If you'll let me keep it. I can a lot  
of money for this and get out of here for  
good. I want to travel, and see every  
Vermeer in the world before I die.

She thinks about it, doesn't immediately answer him. He  
walks out onto the fire escape again and addresses the bird -

BARNEY  
Go on. You've grieved long enough.

He shoos the dove away, picks up the dead one, comes back  
in and drops it in the wastebasket by his desk.

STARLING  
What did he say? About me? Late at  
night.

BARNEY  
We were talking about inherited, hard-  
wired behavior. He was using genetics in  
roller pigeons as an example.  
They go way up in the air and roll over  
backwards in a display, falling toward  
the ground. There are shallow rollers  
and deep rollers. You can't breed two  
deep rollers or the offspring will roll  
all the way down, crash and die. He  
said, "Officer Starling is a deep roller,  
Barney. Let's hope one of her parents  
was not."

As Starling gets up and gathers everything except the mask,  
she hears the surviving dove call out once from somewhere in  
the trees.

INT. FBI LAB - DAY

The two x-rays, one overlaid on the other, clipped to a  
light box. A technician adjusts them so the bone structures  
correspond in position as closely as possible and points out  
to Starling -

TECHNICIAN  
They're the same arm. The discrepancy is  
the dates. This one -

He slides the x-rays apart, touches a thin gray line on one  
of them -

TECHNICIAN  
\- shows the hairline fracture he  
sustained in the fight with the orderly.  
This one -  
(the other x-ray)  
\- the more recent one, supposedly,  
doesn't. This is the newer of the two -  
(the other one)  
\- the one from the asylum.

INT. BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE - LATER

Starling puts the earliest-dated cassette into a player,  
presses "play," walks up to the blackboard and under Verger's  
heading - below "Meat-packing heir" and some other notes -  
writes, "He lies." From the tape player -

LECTER'S VOICE  
Surely the odd confluence of events  
hasn't escaped you, Clarice. Jack Craw-  
ford dangles you in front of me, then I  
give you a bit of help. Do you think  
it's because I like to look at you and  
imagine how good you would taste?

There's a pause. Starling, remembering the moment clearly  
even now, mouths along with her recorded voice -

STARLING'S VOICE  
I don't know. Is it?

INT. CELL - BALTIMORE STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE CRIMINALLY  
INSANE - DAY - (FLASHBACK - 1994)

It's Lecter's cell. And it's almost pitch black. Then,  
as he turns a rheostat, the lights slowly rise, revealing the  
cell to be almost empty, stripped of its books. He's lying  
on his cot.

LECTER  
I've been in this room for eight years,  
Clarice. I know they will never - ever -  
let me out while I'm alive. What I want  
... is a view.

EXT. FLORENCE - DAY

One of the most magnificent views in the world.

Drifting across it, then down, reveals a piazza below.  
Outside a cafe, a figure in a dark overcoat, his back to us,  
drops crumbs to a hundred pigeons surrounding him.

Closer, the pigeons swirl around his shoes. And slowly the  
figure turns to face us. It's not Hannibal Lecter. It's  
someone we don't recognize.

He lets go the last of the crumbs, brushes his gloves  
together, and crosses toward the ancient Palazzo Vecchio,  
glancing once at its high, stone walls and arched windows,  
its medieval bell tower soaring into the sky.

INT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - DAY

Checking his watch, but in no hurry, he climbs a flight  
of marble steps. Unlike here, one more often smokes indoors  
than out, and the man lights an MS cigarette, his reward for  
reaching the landing.

ECHOING VOICE  
The Capponi correspondence goes back to  
the 13th Century. Dr. Fell might hold in  
his hand, in his non-Italian hand, a note  
from Dante Alighieri himself, but would  
he recognize it? I think not -

He follows the echoing voice to the open doorway of a large  
frescoed room, the Salon of Lilies, where another gentleman,  
loitering outside it, pats at his pockets. The man we've  
been following offers, along with an outstretched hand  
holding his pack of cigarettes -

PAZZI  
They're still arguing.

RICCI  
(nodding)  
The curatorship. Sogliato wants the  
job for his nephew. The scholars seem  
satisfied with the temporary guy they  
appointed.

Pazzi lights Ricci, glances down the hall to the far end,  
where a janitor slowly guides a floor polisher back and forth  
like a big, weak motorcycle, then crosses to and peers into  
the Salon:

It's under long-term restoration, scaffolding everywhere.  
A large assembly of men ranging in age from middle-aged to  
the Middle Ages, it seems, are gathered around a long 12th-  
century table. The echoing voice belongs to -

SOGLIATO  
You have examined him in medieval  
Italian, and I'll not deny his language  
is admirable. For a straniero. But what  
if he came upon a note in the Capponi  
library, say, from Guido de'Cavalcanti to  
Dante? Would he recognize it? I think  
not.

Pazzi isn't sure which one is Fell. Scanning the room  
from the doorway, he tries to locate the source of the voice,  
but it's difficult, the high ceillings playing hell with the  
acoustics -

DR. FELL  
Professor Sogliato, if I might.  
Cavalcanti, as we all know, replied  
publicly to Dante's first sonnet in La  
Vita Nuova. If he commented privately as  
well, if he wrote to a Cappono, to which  
would it be? In your opinion?  
(Sogliato clearly can't even  
name the Capponi)  
No? Not even a guess? Andrea, don't you  
think? Since he was more literary than  
his brothers.

Several of the other scholars nod their heads in agreement,  
which only embarrasses Sogliato more. Pazzi knows which man  
at the table Fell is now, however he - and we - still can't  
see his face, seated as he is with his back to the door.

SOGLIATO  
If he is such an expert on Dante let  
him lecture on Dante - to the Studiolo.  
Let him face them, if he can.

DR. FELL  
I'd look forward to it. Shall we set  
the date now?

Sogliato has had enough and gets up, noisily gathering his  
things. As the meeting breaks up some of the other committee  
members shake Fell's hand. Pazzi comes in and approaches  
Fell - from behind - as the others straggle out.

PAZZI  
Dr. Fell?

Fell turns. Of course, it's Hannibal Lecter.

PAZZI  
Chief Inspector Rinaldo Pazzi of the  
Questura.

DR. FELL  
(shaking his hand)  
Commendatore. How can I be of service?

PAZZI  
I'm investigating the disappearance of  
your predecessor, Signore de Bonaventura.  
I was wondering if -

DR. FELL  
Predecessor implies I have the job.  
Unfortunately, I don't. Not yet. Though  
I'm hopeful. They are letting me look  
after the library. For a stipend.

Fell begins gathering his books and papers, placing them  
neatly in his satchel.

PAZZI  
Yes. Well -

DR. FELL  
What do you think happened to him?

PAZZI  
To your - to the Signore - who can say?  
Perhaps he ran off. Bad debts. Bad love  
affair. I was wondering if you might -

DR. FELL  
Not another victim of Il Mostro?

PAZZI  
What? No. That I'm sure. We find Il  
Mostro's victims. He makes sure we find  
them.

DR. FELL  
Or she.

PAZZI  
Or she.

DR. FELL  
I never actually met Signore de  
Bonaventura. I have read several of his  
monographs in the Nuova Antologia.

PAZZI  
The officers who first checked, didn't  
find any sort of - farewell or - suicide  
note. I was wondering if -

DR. FELL  
If I happen to come across anything in  
the Capponi Library, stuffed in a book or  
a drawer - yes, I'll call you at once.

He accepts Pazzi's card and slips it under a paperclip  
holding some of his notes together.

PAZZI  
Thank -

DR. FELL  
You've been reassigned.

Pazzi was just turning to leave. Turns back.

PAZZI  
Pardon?

DR. FELL  
You were on the Il Mostro case, I'm sure  
I read.

PAZZI  
That's right.

And it was a humiliation being taken off of it, which he  
would no doubt rather not discuss here.

DR. FELL  
Now you're on this. This is much less -  
grand - a case, I would think.

PAZZI  
If I thought of my work in those terms,  
yes, I guess I'd agree.

DR. FELL  
A missing person.

Fell says it like it's not worth saying. Pazzi's had enough  
and turns to leave again.

DR. FELL  
Were you unfairly dismissed from the  
grander case? Or did you deserve it?

Pazzi looks back again. Fell isn't even looking at him;  
putting things in his case.

PAZZI  
Regarding this one, Dr. Fell. Are the  
Signore's personal effects still at the  
Palazzo?

DR. FELL  
Packed neatly in two cases with an  
inventory. Alas, no note.

PAZZI  
I'll send someone over to pick them up.  
Thank you for your help.

He starts to leave again.

DR. FELL  
Have you thought about Botticelli?

Pazzi looks back again. What is Fell talking about?

PAZZI  
Not since middle school art class, I'm  
afraid.

DR. FELL  
Those awful pictures in the papers  
of The Monster's victims. His careful  
arrangement of the young lovers' bodies.  
The flowers. The women's exposed left  
breast. The tableaux remind me of  
Botticelli. Don't they, you?

Frankly, it never occurred to him. Fell points to a place  
just behind Pazzi and he turns to see a beautiful Botticelli  
in a carved gold frame, the woman lying in flowers, her left  
breast exposed. Fell shrugs as he closes his satchel.

DR. FELL  
Maybe a clue.

EXT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - NIGHT

A row of family palaces in an ancient street. A figure  
walking on the cobblestones. Only vaguely familiar, his path  
leads us to the front of an old residence, its windows behind  
iron grates, all but one on an upper floor dark. The figure  
continues on down the street, but we go inside -

INT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - NIGHT

Even though the foyer is dark, we can tell it's large and  
high-ceilinged. We become aware of music - Bach's Goldberg  
Variations - but can't be sure where it's coming from.

We notice a staircase and decide to climb it. It's longer  
than we thought at first - its steps made of thick slabs of  
ancient stone, its rail of cold hammered iron.

We reach the landing. Notice a small darkened room to  
one side. But the music seems to be coming from elsewhere, so  
we continue on, down the hall to a pair of tall double doors,  
open, allowing us into the main salon. The music seems to be  
coming from somewhere in here.

We move through the room, illuminated only faintly by the  
occasional candle, look up to see that the height of the room  
disappears into darkness, then down again as we are almost  
upon the figure sitting at a piano.

Lecter's fingers move among the yellowed ivory keys. He  
plays the Bach piece well, every so often glancing to a lyre-  
shaped music stand. But coming slowing around the stand, we  
discover there is no sheet music on it, but instead a copy of  
the National Tattler with a picture of a black woman dead in  
the street, and another picture of Clarice Starling - the  
FBI's "ANGEL OF DEATH" - washing down a baby next to the  
head of a shark.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Dear Clarice, I have followed with  
enthusiasm the course of your disgrace  
and public shaming. My own never  
bothered me, except for the inconvenience  
of being incarcerated, but you may lack  
perspective -

The music continues over:

INT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - LATER - NIGHT

Sitting at a 16th Century refectory table in a pool of lamp  
light, Lecter dips the tip of a fountain pen into an etched  
glass bottle of ink and signs the letter he has just written.

LECTER'S VOICE  
In our discussions down in the dungeon,  
it was apparent to me that your father -  
the dead night watchman - figures large  
in your value system.

He adds a brief post-script, folds the linen-fiber paper over  
once, careful to line up the edges, gives it a sharp crease.

LECTER'S VOICE  
I think your success in putting an end to  
Jame Gumb's career as a couturier pleased  
you most because you could imagine your  
father being pleased.

He places the letter in an envelope that is already addressed  
to Special Agent Clarice Starling, and seals it with wax. He  
places it into another, slightly larger envelope that already  
has written on it a Las Vegas, Nevada, address.

EXT. FLORENCE - DAY

Lecter strolls across a bridge over the Arno and drops his  
envelope into a post box on the other side.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Now you are in bad odour with the  
FBI, alas. Do you imagine Daddy shamed  
by your disgrace? Do you see him in his  
plain pine box, crushed by your failure?  
The sorry, petty end of a promising  
career?

EXT. LAS VEGAS - DAY

A U.S. Mail carrier's truck pulls into the parking lot of a  
strip mall.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Do you dream now, not of screaming  
lambs, but of yourself doing the menial  
tasks your mother was reduced to after  
the addicts busted a cap on Daddy?

INT. RE-MAILING SERVICE - LAS VEGAS - DAY

Piles of mail on the counter. A middle-aged man slits open  
the envelope from Italy, takes out the smaller envelope, puts  
a stamp on it, drops it onto a pile of outgoing mail and  
throws the larger envelope away.

LECTER'S VOICE  
What is worst about this humiliation?  
Is it how your failure will reflect on  
them? Is your worst fear that people  
will forever now believe your parents  
were indeed trailer camp tornado-bait  
white trash? That you are? Hmmm?

INT. FBI BASEMENT - DAY

The letter is among stacks of others in a metal cart as it is  
wheeled along a basement corridor.

LECTER'S VOICE  
I couldn't help noticing on its rather  
dull public web site, Clarice, that I've  
been hoisted from the Bureau's Archives  
of the Common Criminal up to the more  
prestigious 10 Most Wanted list.

The mail cart comes to and past a door on which, instead of  
a nameplate, is Scotch-taped a piece of legal pad paper with  
one hand-scrawled word: "Starling."

LECTER'S VOICE  
Coincidence? Or are you "back on the  
case?"

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - CONTINUOUS

The mail room boy navigates the short maze of black right-  
angled darkroom walls that lead to the room itself.

LECTER'S VOICE  
I imagine you sitting in a dark base-  
ment room, bent over papers and computer  
screens at clerk's distances that mocks  
the prairie distance in your eyes. A  
zoo hawk, one wing hanging down.

The mail room boy sets three or four things down on  
Starling's desk.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Is that fairly accurate? Tell me  
truly, Special Agent Starling. Regards,  
Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

The music ends. To the mail room boy -

STARLING  
Thanks.

He doesn't immediately leave. He watches her tack to a  
bulletin board the last of several newspaper clippings and  
Internet downloads of grisly unsolved murders world-wide.

GEOFFREY  
How's it going? Any leads?

STARLING  
They're all leads. They just don't lead  
to him.

She sits at her desk to take a look at the mail. Geoffrey  
wanders over to take a look at the clippings. He grimaces at  
one of them.

GEOFFREY  
I don't know how you live with this  
stuff.

STARLING  
Oh, God.

He turns. She's looking at one of her pieces of mail.

STARLING  
It's from the Guinness Book of World  
Records congratulating me on being "The  
Female FBI Agent Who Has Shot The Most  
People."

She throws it in the wastebasket, picks up the envelope  
with the wax seal and fine copperplate writing, and somehow  
immediately knows who it's from.

STARLING  
Geoffrey - ? Would you excuse me.

He sees she isn't looking at him. Leaves with his cart.  
Annoyed at herself for getting her paw prints all over the  
letter, she reaches for her key chain, slits the envelope  
with the Swiss Army knife on it, and extracts and unfolds the  
letter with the blade. As she reads it, there is a faint  
echoing refrain of Bach's Goldberg Variations, and -

LECTER'S VOICE  
P.S. Clearly this new assignment is  
not your choice. Rather, it is part of  
"the bargain." But you accepted it,  
Clarice. Your job is to craft my doom.  
As such, I'm not sure how well to wish  
you. Ta-ta. H.

INT. FBI LAB - DAY

Digitized images of the letter alongside "Early Lecter"  
handwriting samples on a computer monitor.

TECHNICIAN  
The letter was written by Lecter, but  
you could probably tell that just from  
reading it.

Starling nods. Other images replace the writing analyses:  
sets of fingerprints.

TECHNICIAN  
Naturally, there were several prints on  
the envelope, including yours -

STARLING  
\- sorry -

TECHNICIAN  
On the letter itself there's only one  
"partial" - here - not enough to hold up  
in court, but -

STARLING  
We know it's him. Where he was when  
he wrote it is what I need.

The image changes again - a greatly magnified patch of the  
letter that reads, "screaming lambs."

TECHNICIAN  
The paper isn't going to help. Yes, it's  
linen fiber. Yes, it's on the expensive  
side. No, it's not so rare that you  
couldn't find it in a thousand stationery  
stores the world over.  
Same with the ink. Same with the wax.  
(an image of the envelope  
appears on the monitor)  
The post mark. Las Vegas. You could  
check it out, but odds are it came from a  
a re-mailing service. Afraid you're out of  
luck.

STARLING  
What about the crease?

TECHNICIAN  
The what?

INT. PERFUMERY - NEW JERSEY - DAY

Stainless stell tweezers pluck the letter from the evidence  
bag and hold it, crease up, under an enormous nose. The nose  
sniffs only once, but long, taking in a faint, pleasant aroma  
of residue and a lot of air.

The hand clutching the tweezers clutching the letter are  
passed to another - feminine - hand, which holds it up to  
another enormous nose with wide nostrils. This nose sniffs  
once and hands the tweezers to another - masculine - hand.  
This one lifts the letter to the biggest nose of all.

BIGGEST NOSE  
Hand soap ... Raw ambergris base ...  
Tennessee lavender ... mountain sage ...  
trace of something else ...

LESS BIGGEST NOSE  
Fleece.

LEAST BIGGEST NOSE  
Fleece.

BIGGEST NOSE  
It's fleece, isn't it. Lovely.

The other two "perfume engineers" nod. All three, and  
Starling, are sitting in a sterile laboratory environment.

STARLING  
What's ambergris?

BIGGEST NOSE  
Ambergris is a whale product. Alas,  
much as we'd like to, we can't import it.  
Endangered Species Act.

The other two shake their heads as if to say, What a load of  
crap that Endangered Species Act is.

STARLING  
Where isn't it illegal?

BIGGEST NOSE  
Japan, of course. Couple of places in  
Europe. You'd almost certainly find it  
somewhere in Paris. Rome. Amsterdam.

LESS BIGGEST NOSE  
Maybe London.

LEAST BIGGEST NOSE  
But not at Harrod's. Small, exclusive  
shops. This bouquet was hand-engineered  
to someone's specifications.

STARLING  
Is there any way of knowing which shops?

BIGGEST NOSE  
Of course. We'll give you a list.  
It'll be short.

The Biggest Nose can't resist taking one last savoring sniff  
before returning the letter to the plastic bag.

EXT. FLORENCE - DAY

Vespas, Fiats and Innocenti speed around a traffic circle.  
Pedestrians move along the boulevard. We follow one man who  
seems vaguely familiar - we glimpsed him briefly several days  
ago walking past Fell's residence just before we went in, and  
once before that, if we recall, polishing the floor in the  
Palazzo Vecchio.

Right now, though, we're more interested in Pazzi who joins  
the frame coming toward us, and we follow him instead, to and  
up the steps of the Questura building.

INT. QUESTURA - DAY

A black and white step-framed image of Dr. Fell entering a  
small perfume shop. It plays on a monitor sitting atop two  
VCR decks, one on Play, the other Record, the operator, a  
young agent, smoking as he writes out a label.

Pazzi hangs his coat on a rack, crosses through the large  
room, and sits at his desk which happens to be right next to  
the VCR, which he pays no attention to. At the next desk,  
Ricci sits working on a crossword puzzle.

PAZZI  
I need opera tickets.

RICCI  
(without looking up)  
Don't think I have any on me.

PAZZI  
It's sold out, whatever it's called.

A couple of Pazzi's colleagues, ones who are now working on  
the Il Mostro case instead of him, surrounded by  
photographs and clippings on the crimes, exchange a look.

DETECTIVE  
It's the pretty young wife with the  
ever-open beak who needs opera tickets.

Pazzi glances over at them, not sure he heard right. One  
sneaks a glance at the other. It's all they can do to keep  
from laughing. The tape of the customers coming and going  
at the perfume store contines, but Pazzi doesn't notice.

PAZZI  
Botticelli.

DETECTIVE  
What?

PAZZI  
He arranges his victims like that  
Botticelli painting. You hadn't noticed?

As Pazzi glances away from them, he catches a glimpse of the  
monitor, of Fell coming into the perfume shop again. He gets  
up and the Il Mostro detectives, thinking he's coming for  
them, decide to go out for coffee.

PAZZI  
Back that up.

YOUNG AGENT  
What? I can't back it up. I'm making a  
copy. I'm recording.

The black and white images of customers, most of them women,  
continue, until Pazzi hits the stop button and spins the jog.  
The young agent groans, but not too loud; Pazzi far outranks  
him. The image reverses. Pazzi freezes it on one of the  
step frames that shows Dr. Fell.

PAZZI  
What is this?

YOUNG AGENT  
Security camera from a perfume shop on  
Villa Della Scula. FBI through Interpol  
requested a copy.

PAZZI  
Why?

YOUNG AGENT  
They didn't say.

PAZZI  
They didn't say?

YOUNG AGENT  
It was actually kind of weird. Like  
they were making a point of not saying.

Pazzi unpauses it. Watches Fell approach the counter and  
then wait, it seems, for a long time as the perfumer mixes up  
some kind of concoction. Money exchanges hands and Fell,  
with his purchase, leaves.

INT. PAZZI'S APARTMENT - STUDY - NIGHT

As a search engine works, Pazzi glances down at copies of  
Fell's state work permit and Permesso di Soggiorno resting  
next to the computer. The video cassette is there, too.  
And the over-night mailer.

The FBI's consumer home page appears on the screen. Pazzi  
selects the 10 Most Wanted button, and in a moment, the list  
\- with pictures - is displayed.

The World Trade Center bombing mastermind is #1. Beneath  
him, nine other, lesser bombers and murderers, none of whom  
look anything like Fell.

He shifts back to the main page. Selects Archives. The  
50 Most Wanted list appears - bank robbers and killers and  
arsonists, all with photos or police sketches, all but one  
man. He scrolls down, stops. Dr. Fell - Hannibal Lecter -  
"Hannibal the Cannibal" - is looking right at him.

ALLEGRA  
Rinaldo.

He doesn't seem to hear her as he begins reading the text  
under Lecter's digitally-enhanced picture.

ALLEGRA  
Rinaldo.

He glances up finally. His young wife - who is indeed pretty  
\- stands in the doorway of the study.

PAZZI  
I'm sorry.

ALLEGRA  
Are we going to the Teatro Michahelles?

PAZZI  
Yes.

ALLEGRA  
You got tickets.

PAZZI  
No. But I will. In fact, I was just  
about to look here.  
(on the Internet)

ALLEGRA  
Please not the third balcony. I would  
like to see it.

PAZZI  
Not in the balcony. No matter what the  
cost.

Unconvinced the promise will hold, she leaves the room.

Pazzi opens his filofax to the F tab, finds a number written  
under no heading, a code, enters it into his computer and in  
a moment is taken to the FBI's private VICAP site - Violent  
Criminal Apprehensopn Program.

He types in Lecter and scans the internal 302 reports that  
are displayed, many of them prepared by Special Agent Clarice  
Starling.

He returns to the server screen. Begins a new search.  
Hannibal Lecter. Many of the same sites Starling found are  
listed, the ones posted by nuts.

He scrolls down to the Refine Search panel. Adds one word  
to his Hannibal Lecter query. Reward. Hits Return.

Only one site includes the word in its page name. Pazzi goes  
to it. No graphics other than the same picture the FBI site  
showed. No indication of whose site it is.

Dry text describes Lecter, reminds the reader he should be  
regarded as armed and dangerous, and encourages informants to  
call the provided FBI number with any information.

There is also a private number listed - European dialing  
code, not U.S. Oh, and one more small piece of information.  
The reward. $3,000,000.

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - DAY

The place is looking more and more like a museum, the  
bulletin and blackboards covered now with notes and newsprint  
photos, including some of Il Mostro's young victims.

Paul Krendler makes his way through the right-angled  
passageway leading into the darkened room. The only light is  
coming from a monitor showing Lecter's escape from Memphis,  
as caught by high-angle security cameras.

He considers a display Starling has erected to Lecter's nine  
known victims. One is Mason Verger. Another, a man attached  
to a tool shop peg board with metal rods piercing his body as  
in an illustration next to it of the medieval Wound Man.

He becomes intrigued by a sketch on a standing easel of  
Starling, signed by Hannibal Lecter. A piece of cloth has  
been tacked at the neck and drapes down like a sari. Is she  
naked underneath it? Krendler has to find out. As he  
carefully lifts the cloth -

LECTER'S VOICE  
What is your worst memory of childhood?

He jumps, startled, sees Starling sitting in a corner, in the  
shadows, next to the cassette deck.

STARLING  
Can I help you, Mr. Krendler?

KRENDLER  
Jesus. What are you doing sitting there  
in the dark?

STARLING  
Thinking.

She gets up. Lets the tape of Lecter's voice continue.  
Krendler works at slowing the pace of his heart, at regaining  
most of his unpleasant hauteur.

KRENDLER  
Some people in Justice are thinking,  
too. They're thinking, what exactly is  
she doing about Lecter?

STARLING  
Thinking. About cannibalism.

KRENDLER  
What's the point of that, are you  
catching a crook, or writing a book?

STARLING  
Aren't you curious why he dines on his  
victims?

KRENDLER  
Not particularly, no.

STARLING  
To show his contempt for those who  
exasperate him, I think.

Which she wouldn't mind showing Krendler in similar fashion.

STARLING  
Or, sometimes, to perform a public  
service. In the case of the flautist,  
Benjamin Raspail -  
(shows him a picture)  
\- he did it to improve the sound of the  
Baltimore Philharmonic Orchestra, serving  
the not-so-talented flute player's sweet-  
breads to the board with a nice Chateau  
d'Y quem at forty-six hundred dollars a  
bottle. That meal began with green  
oysters from the Gironde, followed by the  
sweetbreads, a sorbet and then, you can  
read here in Town & Country: A notable  
dark and glossy ragout, the constituents  
never determined, on saffron rice. Its  
taste was darkly thrilling with great  
bass tones that only the vast and careful  
reduction of the fond can give.

Krendler is looking at her, not at the magazine. Then -

KRENDLER  
I always figured him for a queer.

STARLING  
Now why would you say that, Paul?

KRENDLER  
All this artsy-fartsy stuff. Chamber  
music and tea-party food. Not that I  
mean anything personal, if you've got a  
lot of sympathy for those people.

There wasn't a lot of spin on his words, but they carried an  
inkling of implication which she doesn't misinterpret. She  
ignores it, though, and him, looks through her receipts.

KRENDLER  
What I came here to impress upon you,  
Starling, is I'd better see cooperation.  
There are no little fiefdoms. I want to  
be copied on every 302. Work with me and  
your so-called career here might improve.  
If you don't, all I have to do is draw a  
line through your name rather than under  
it, and it's over.

He turns to leave.

STARLING  
Paul? What is it with you? I told you  
to go home to your wife. That was wrong?

KRENDLER  
Don't flatter yourself, Starling. Why  
would I hold that against you? That was  
a long time ago, and besides, this town  
is full of cornpone country pussy.

He seems pleased he came up with the phrase so easily.

KRENDLER  
That said, I wouldn't mind having a go  
with you now if you want to reconsider.

STARLING  
In the gym, anytime. No pads.

He smiles. Leaves. She sits down at her desk, listens  
to his footsteps down the hall fade, glances at the tape of  
Lecter's escape.

EXT. FLORENCE - DAY

A fistful of 1,000-lira coins makes a dull ching as Pazzi  
shakes them in his hand like dice he's not sure he wants to  
throw. He's staring at a pay phone ten paces away. No one's  
using it. It's his if he wants it; clearly he isn't sure.

He finally walks over to it. Lifts the receiver. Presses  
in the sequence of numbers scribbled in pen on the back of  
the hand that holds the change.

A series of long distance tones beeps like a tinny death  
knell. A tinny recorded voice tells him to deposit 9,000-  
lira for the first three minutes.

He drops nine coins in the slot with a shaky hand. The  
call connects and another recorded voice tells him the number  
he has dialed is no longer in service.

He hangs up, relieved. Begins to walk away with his so-  
called reputation intact. The phone rings. He looks back at  
it. It rings again. He begins to walk toward it. It rings  
again. He reaches for it, hesitates, picks it up, and hears  
a voice - not recorded - American accent - a man.

VOICE  
Yes?  
(Pazzi doesn't answer)  
Hel-lo?

PAZZI  
I have information about Hannibal Lecter.

VOICE  
Does it include where he is now?

PAZZI  
Is the reward still in effect?

VOICE  
Yes, it is. Have you shared your infor-  
mation with the police, sir?

PAZZI  
No.

VOICE  
I'm required to encourage you to do so.

PAZZI  
Uh-huh. Is the reward payable under ...  
special circumstances?

VOICE  
Do you mean a bounty? It's against  
international convention and U.S. Law to  
offer a bounty for someone's death, sir.

PAZZI  
I mean in the case of, say, someone  
who might not ordinarily be eligible to  
accept a reward.

VOICE  
May I suggest you contact an attorney,  
sir, before taking any possible-illegal  
action? There's one in Geneva who's  
excellent in these matters.  
May I recommend an attorney? May I give  
you his toll-free number?

The voice enunciates the number clearly. Pazzi writes it on  
the back of his hand next to the other one, the pen shaking.

VOICE  
Thank you for calling.

The call disconnects. Pazzi takes a breath. Crosses the  
street to another pay phone. Dials the toll-free number and  
pockets the coins. The call connects. Another male voice.  
This one with a dry, Swiss, lawyerly tone:

VOICE 2  
Hello -

PAZZI  
Yes. I was just speaking with someone  
who suggested I -

VOICE 2  
There is a one hundred thousand dollar  
advance. To qualify for the advance, a  
fingerprint must be provided - in situ -  
on an object -  
(the voice is a recording)  
Once the print is positively identified,  
the balance of the money will be placed  
in escrow at Geneva Credit Suisse, and  
may be viewed at any time subject to 24-  
hour-prior-notification. To repeat this  
message in French, press 2. In Spanish,  
press 3. In German, press 4. In  
Japanese -

INT. CAFE RESTROOM - LATER - DAY

Pazzi scrubs at his hands like Lady Macbeth, trying to get  
the stain of the phone numbers off his skin, the black ink  
clouding the water pooling in the sink before going down  
the drain.

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - DAY

A security tape of mostly-Japanese customers entering and  
exiting an exclusive Tokyo perfumery plays on Starling's VCR.  
The mail room boy watches it as Starling speaks on the phone -

STARLING  
Is it possible it went out with the  
regular mail?

YOUNG AGENT'S VOICE  
No. No, I over-nighted it. I filled  
out the slip myself.

INT. QUESTURA - INTERCUT

It's the same young agent who copied the security tape -

YOUNG AGENT  
This was the day after your request.  
I did it right away. I don't understand  
what happened. You should have it.

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - CONTINUED

There are three other tapes, marked with the names of stores  
in Paris, Rome and Amsterdam, stacked on top of the machine  
that plays the Japanese perfumery.

STARLING  
I don't. Can you send me another one?

YOUNG AGENT'S VOICE  
I'll have to make another one.

STARLING  
I'd appreciate it.

She hangs up. Geoffrey gestures to the monitor.

GEOFFREY  
Nothing, huh?

STARLING  
Nothing yet. Still waiting on Florence  
and London. London says they're sniffing  
around. I don't know, is that British  
humor?

EXT. PALAZZO CAPPONI - DAY

Pazzi's clean finger presses a button on the intercom set  
into the stone wall of the entry. As he waits, he glances up  
at the security camera, then down at the hammered-iron handle  
on the door. No way to get a print off that.

DR. FELL'S VOICE  
Buongiorno.

PAZZI  
Dr. Fell? It's Inspector Pazzi.

DR. FELL'S VOICE  
Yes, I can see.

A buzzer releases the lock and Pazzi pulls the door open.

INT. PALAZZO CAPPONI - DAY

As Fell leads Pazzi across the main salon upstairs, past  
furniture draped with sheets, the inspector's glance darts  
from object to object he'd like to steal for prints - a  
glass, a book, a vase, a pen.

DR. FELL  
I should've encouraged you to bring  
someone along. The cases, I'm afraid,  
are on the heavy side.

PAZZI  
Maybe you could help me with them.

DR. FELL  
Hmmmm.

PAZZI  
Just down the stairs I mean.

They reach two big suitcases, closed. Two typewritten sheets  
of paper rest on a small table next to them.

PAZZI  
Is that the inventory?

DR. FELL  
Yes.

PAZZI  
May I see it?

DR. FELL  
Of course.

Pazzi waits for Fell to hand it to him. Unfortunately, it's  
just as close to him. Once it's clear Fell has no intention  
of picking it up, Pazzi does - carefully, but not too  
carefully - and pretends to read it.

DR. FELL  
You are a Pazzi of the Pazzi, I think.  
(Pazzi doesn't answer)  
Wasn't it at the Palazzo Vecchio your  
ancestor was hanged? Francesco de'Pazzi?  
Thrown naked with a noose around his neck  
from the window? Writhing alongside the  
archbishop against the cold stone wall?

Pazzi stares at Fell, who only pleasantly smiles back.

DR. FELL  
I found a nice rendering of it here in  
the library the other day. If you'd like  
perhaps I could sneak it out for you.

PAZZI  
I'd think that might jeopardize your  
chances for permanent appointment to the  
curatorship.

DR. FELL  
Only if you told.  
(Fell smiles again)  
Remind me. What was his crime?

PAZZI  
He was accused of killing Giuliano  
de'Medici.

DR. FELL  
Unjustly?

PAZZI  
No, I don't think so.

DR. FELL  
Then he wasn't just accused. He did it.  
He was guilty.

A knowing look from Fell makes Pazzi wonder if he somehow  
knows he knows he's Lecter.

DR. FELL  
I'd think that would make living in  
Florence with the name Pazzi  
uncomfortable, even 500 years later.

PAZZI  
Not really. In fact, I can't remember  
the last time - before today - someone  
brought it up.

DR. FELL  
But people don't always tell you what  
they're thinking ... They just see to it  
you don't advance.  
(then)  
I'm sorry, I too often say what I'm  
thinking. I'll be right back to help  
you.

Fell leaves Pazzi alone in the room ...

FELL'S VOICE  
Any developments in the Il Mostro case?

PAZZI  
I believe my colleagues are checking  
suspects' homes to see if they have any  
Botticelli prints.

FELL'S VOICE  
In their homes? That would be rather  
obvious, wouldn't it?

PAZZI  
Serial killers are obvious. Their  
primary motivation is to be obvious, to  
be noticed.

FELL'S VOICE  
But not caught.

In another room, Fell opens a drawer and takes out a pair of  
leather gloves.

PAZZI'S VOICE  
Yes, that too, I think.

DR. FELL  
Not really.

PAZZI'S VOICE  
Yes.

FELL'S VOICE  
Hmmm.

In the salon, Pazzi peers closely at the handles of the  
suitcases to see if he can tell which, if either, has the  
better print. It doesn't matter really; in a few moments  
he'll get another, fresh one.

FELL'S VOICE  
By the way, the room you're standing in was  
built in the 15th-century.

PAZZI  
It's beautiful.

FELL'S VOICE  
Yes. Unfortunately, I think the heating  
system was installed just about the same  
time.

Fell reappears pulling on the gloves. Elaborating a shiver,  
he rubs them together.

FELL  
All right, let's drag these things down.  
They're as heavy as bodies.

INT/EXT. PERFUMERY - DAY

From across the street, Pazzi watches Fell inside the small  
shop browsing at the glass bottles that line the shelves, his  
ungloved hands clasped behind his back like someone looking  
at great art, his nose taking in the cacophony of scents.

The hands unclasp. A finger reaches to a bottle - but  
doesn't touch it - moving slowly back and forth an inch away  
from the label as a reading aid. The hands return then to  
their clasped position behind the back.

EXT. CAFE - LATER

Fell, alone at a table, his hand grasping a wine glass  
firmly, bringing it to his lips, and setting it back down.  
Pazzi, watching from across the street, smiles ... until  
Fell takes a last sip, touches a napkin to his lips, slides  
the cloth across the glass in a single, mechanical motion,  
gets up and leaves.

INT. JEWELRY STORE - DAY

Pazzi's hands peel tens of thousands of lira from his money  
clip as a jeweler's hands rub a soft cloth at the blank face  
of a silver ID bracelet.

JEWELER  
What would you like engraved on it, sir?

PAZZI  
Nothing.

JEWELER  
May I apply an anti-tarnish coating?

PAZZI  
No.

EXT. ROAD TO PRATO - DAY

Sollicciano, the dreaded Florentine jail.

INT. JAIL - WOMEN'S DIVISION - DAY

A young woman's eyes drift down from Pazzi's tie clasp, to  
his wedding band, to his silver ID bracelet. In a crowd on  
the street, she could remove all three in an instant and he  
wouldn't even notice they were gone until he got home.

ROMULA  
What do you want? Information?

PAZZI  
What sort of information would you be  
willing to give me, Romula? Names and  
descriptions of fifteen Gypsy pickpockets  
who never existed? No, what I want is to  
get you out of here. And to make your  
arrest record permanently disappear. In  
exchange, all I want from you is the  
usual thing. Only I want you to fail.

EXT. FELL'S RESIDENCE - DAY

Fell emerges from his residence with a cloth shopping bag.  
As he walks away on the cobblestoned street, a Vespa - with  
Pazzi driving and Romula holding him around the waist - races  
past and disappears into the traffic.

EXT. VERA DAL 1926 - LATER

Pazzi and Romula, on the parked scooter, watch Fell inside  
the exclusive food shop selecting figs and white truffles.

PAZZI  
When you fumble for his wallet, he'll  
catch you by the wrist -

ROMULA  
I've done this a few times, Inspector -

PAZZI  
Not like this. If there isn't a clean  
print on that bracelet -  
(on her wrist now)  
\- it's back to Sollicciano.

ROMULA  
If there's a problem and someone helps,  
don't hurt him.  
My friend doesn't know anything, and  
won't take anything, let him run off.

PAZZI  
There won't be a problem. The man can't  
afford a problem. He'll want to get away  
from you more than you will from him.

Here he comes, out the door of the shop, the little bell  
above it tinkling. Pazzi waits a moment, then starts the  
Vespa, puts it in gear. As he blends in among cars racing  
past Fell, the sound of a choir practicing - somewhere -  
begins and carries over:

INT. CHURCH OF SAN CROCE - LATER

Tourists drop 200-lira pieces into coin boxes that trigger  
light to be thrown across the great frescos of Christ. The  
clicking timers wind down after only a few moments and the  
murals plunge back into incense-smoky darkness.

Pazzi, lurking in the vast cathedral by Galileo's grave,  
points with his chin to a transept to the left of the main  
altar. There, Romula can see the kneeling shape of a lone  
figure and the outline of his shopping bag.

Fell has brought along his art supplies and uses some now  
to carefully make a charcoal rubbing of an inscription in the  
stone. To keep his hands clean, he wears a pair of thin  
cotton gloves.

A bell sounds. Midday closing. Sextons coming out with  
their keys to empty the coin boxes. Tourists looking around  
puzzled in the dark, not yet understanding they all have to  
leave. Pazzi watches Fell rise from his labors, carefully  
place the charcoal rubbing in his shopping bag and pull the  
gloves off.

PAZZI  
(a whisper)  
Okay?

She nods, moves away to the entrance of the church. The  
crowd will force Fell to pass right by her here. Troubled by  
something, though - a feeling - she looks down. Sees she's  
standing on the tomb of Michelangelo. Steps off and whispers  
to the slab -

ROMULA  
Sorry.

Fell is coming toward her in the dark, oblivious to what is  
about to happen. Someone reaches into a purse and fishes out  
a 200-lira coin.

Romula begins to move toward the dark shape moving toward  
her. Her friend and protector, Gnocco, falls in a couple  
steps behind her. A hand drops the coin in a slot.

Just as Romula and her target are upon one another, a light  
goes on illuminating a fresco of a bloodied Christ and Fell's  
eyes, looking straight into hers and chilling her heart. The  
ticking of the coin box accompanies an awkward moment before  
Romula manages -

ROMULA  
Excuse me.

She continues past Fell, the bracelet - untouched - jangling  
dully on her wrist. Fell looks back over his shoulder at the  
woman. She looks back over hers for a second, and the light  
goes out leaving him in silhouette.

Fell walks away out past the doors and into the blinding  
sunlight. Pazzi wanders around in the dark and finally finds  
Romula at a font, scrubbing her hands in the holy water.

ROMULA  
That's the Devil.

She takes the bracelet off and hands it to Pazzi. He watches  
water drip from it and his hands to the floor.

PAZZI  
So I'll drive you back to jail then.

ROMULA  
Yes.

She splashes holy water on her face. Pazzi shakes his head  
and glances away, watches absently as a sexton empties one of  
the coin boxes, then notices Gnocco, standing in the shadows.

EXT. PIAZZA SANTO SPIRITO - NIGHT

The dark water of the Arno drifts slowly under a bridge. On  
the left bank, by the fountain, Gnocco and some other Gypsies  
share a joint. In between hits, Gnocco slices up an orange,  
his eyes hazy but his hand quick with the blade, the juice of  
the fruit dripping onto his fingers.

GNOCCO  
Two million lire.

PAZZI  
Fine.

GNOCCO  
Give me the bracelet.

PAZZI  
Wash your fuckin hands.

EXT. VIA SAN LEONARDO - NIGHT

Steep cobbled ill-lit street. Gnocco leaning in a dark,  
gated niche built into a high stone wall protecting villas  
inside. He finishes a joint, tosses it away. Spits on the  
bracelet and wipes it clean with the tail of his shirt. As  
he's about to put it on his wrist, his jacket vibrates. With  
his free hand he removes a cell phone from the pocket.

PAZZI'S VOICE  
He's coming.

The call disconnects. Gnocco slips the phone back into the  
pocket, clasps the bracelet around his wrist and steps out of  
the shadows.

Several people appear around the corner, all of them well-  
dressed. A show must have just let out. Gnocco walks up the  
narrow street toward the column of advancing bobbing heads,  
keeping his eyes on one of them. Fell.

Gnocco and the group are upon each other. Stoned and  
swimming against the current, the pickpocket angles toward  
his mark, bumps into him, reaches inside the elegant coat,  
feels the wrist with the bracelet seized in a terrific grip,  
twists it free hardly breaking stride, and emerges from  
the tail of the throng.

He veers into another dark niche and bends over slightly  
to catch his breath. In a moment, quick footsteps announce  
Pazzi's arrival.

GNOCCO  
I got it. He grabbed me just right.  
Tried to hit me in the balls, but he  
missed.

He holds out the arm with the braclet for Pazzi to take it  
off. As the Inspector works carefully at the clasp, Gnocco  
sucks in another deep breath of air.

GNOCCO  
Jesus -

PAZZI  
What - ?

Gnocco suddenly collapses to one knee, the bracelet pulling  
from Pazzi's hands. Blood begins to gush out of a neat tear  
in his pants.

More confuses than in pain, Gnocco looks down at the blood  
only to have it spray up into his face. Trying to ignore the  
blood - even as it sprays on him - Pazzi works to get the  
bracelet off, and finally frees it.

Gnocco stares dumbly at himself in his praying position,  
then tries to stop the flow of blood with his hand. As he  
collapses against the iron gate. Pazzi sets the bracelet in  
the box it came in, pockets it, then reaches into Gnocco's  
bloody pocket and takes the phone.

PAZZI  
Here, let me help you.

Gnocco looks up at Pazzi gratefully, feels his hand being  
moved away from the wound and held, feels nothing pressed in  
its place, feels his blood drainging out of his body, then  
feels nothing. He's dead.

Pazzi gets up. Takes out a handkerchief. Wrapped inside is  
a used syringe. He tosses it on the ground and walks away.

INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - DAY

Verger, lying in the dark, watches a technician in a pool  
of bright light in the sitting area using a cordless power  
screwdriver to back out the screws that secure the bracelet  
to the jeweler's stand. Carefully, he lifts it out of the  
velvet box and sets it on a china plate.

A few flecks of dried blood fall onto the porcelain. More  
dried blood encrusts the silver. He dusts the bracelet with  
Dragon's Blood powder, angles a hot lamp at it and  
photographs the one - in situ - print.

He comes around the tripod then and lifts the print, tapes it  
to a slide and compares it to Lecter's FBI print card under a  
microscope. The swirling lines come into sharp focus.

TECHNICIAN  
Middle finger of the left hand. Sixteen  
point match.

EXT. SARDINIA - DAY

On a mountain farm deep in central Sardinia, a young man  
wheels an empty, battered metal gurney along the fence-line  
of a large pen.

Inside the adjacent shed, another young man picks through a  
pile of old clothes. In a corner, a third young man shuffles  
through a small handful of audio cassette tapes.

Carlo and his gurney arrive. His brother Matteo has chosen  
an ensemble of pants and shirt, and lays it out on the sheet.  
Carlo's cell phone rings. He flips it open.

MASON'S VOICE  
Carlo?

CARLO  
Mason?

MASON'S VOICE  
Ciao, Bello. Come stai? You have all  
your shots? There's a nasty winter flu  
going around.

CARLO  
Am I coming to see you?

MASON'S VOICE  
Soon, I think, but first I need you to  
pack off the boys. Yes, I know, the day  
you never thought would arrive, has.  
Got a pencil?

Carlo grabs a pen and a scrap of paper from the trestle  
table by the gurney, where his brother is now filling the  
clothes with meat and acorns and entrails and bread.

MASON'S VOICE  
You need to get certified cholera  
inoculations - well, not you - and Ace-  
promazine for sedation. That's a-c-e-p-r-  
oh, the hell with it, you'll find it.  
Cordell will fax the Veterinary Service  
forms directly to Animal and Plant Health  
\- but you need to get the veterinary  
affidavits from Sardinia.

As Carlo scribbles the shipping instructions, Piero decides  
on a tape, drops it in and carries the boom box outside.

MASON'S VOICE  
The airbus will await you in Cagliari.  
Count Fleet Airlines. The crates can be  
no larger than four-by-six - it's as bad  
as carry-on rules. An on-board inspector  
has to travel with them. They'll be met  
at Baltimore-Washington Airport - not the  
Key West quarantine facility - by my  
people who will clear them through  
Customs. Va bene?

CARLO  
Got it.

MASON'S VOICE  
How are they?

CARLO  
They're really big, Mason. About two  
hundred and seventy kilos.

MASON'S VOICE  
Wow.

Someone starts screaming outside; a recorded male voice from  
the boom box. Matteo splashes some expensive cologne on the  
stuffed clothes and wheels the gurney out.

MASON'S VOICE  
Oh, I called at a good time. I can  
hear that. Would it be too much trouble  
to take the phone outside?

Carlo walks out to the pen with the phone. Matteo is there,  
lowering the gurney while Piero raises the volume on the boom  
box. The recorded screams echo out across the mountains - a  
fitting overture for the dark shadows coming out of the  
woods.

EXT. BANK - GENEVA - DAY

The unassuming facade of Geneva Credit Suisse.

INT. CREDIT SUISSE VAULT - DAY

A bank clerk and another man, both in business suits, work  
their keys to open four deep lock boxes with brass plates.

INT. ADJACENT PRIVACY ROOM - DAY

Alone in this severe, scrubbed, very Swiss room, Pazzi can  
hear the sound of wheels. In a moment a cart with four large  
metal deposit boxes is pushed in.

The clerk excuses himself. The other man raises the lids of  
the boxes revealing three hundred banded blocks of non-  
sequential hundred dollar bills.

Pazzi watches the man tear the paper bands off ten of the  
neat stacks and set the loose bills in a counting machine.  
The numbers on the LCD display climb.

MR. KONIE  
The full balance of the money is  
payable upon receipt of the doctor alive.  
(the same dry Swiss voice Pazzi  
heard on the phone recording)  
Of course, you won't have to seize him  
yourself, but merely point him out to us.  
In fact, it's preferable to all concerned  
if that's the extent of your involvement  
from this point.

PAZZI  
I prefer to stay involved. To make sure  
things go right.

MR. KONIE  
Professionals will see to that, sir.

PAZZI  
I'm a professional.

The glowing LCD display stops at $100,000.

INT. FLORENCE PERFUMERY - DAY

Flushed with the feeling that one of the bundles of money  
makes against his thigh, Pazzi enters the exlusive shop and  
browses at the bottles of scents on the shelves.

PERFUMER  
May I help you, sir?

PAZZI  
Yes. Yes, you may.

INT. PAZZI'S APARTMENT - EVENING

An aria can be heard as Allegra Pazzi, sitting at her  
dressing table in her underclothes, uncaps a small unlabeled  
bottle of perfume and carefully touches a drop to her wrist.

Across the bedroom, knotting a new tie that drapes against a  
handmade linen shirt that still shows the fold-creases, Pazzi  
watches as his wife lifts the wrist to her beautiful face,  
smells the scent on it and smiles to herself.

Pazzi smiles, too, to himself, as he watches her place  
another drop on the other wrist and two more just under her  
diamond-studded ear lobes.

It's almost like watching sex.

INT. TEATRO MICHAHELLES - NIGHT

The aria fills the grand darkened interior of the theatre.  
In a private box overlooking the stage, Pazzi sits with his  
wife's hand in his - he in his new Sulka suit, she in her new  
evening gown. The scalped tickets for these seats must have  
cost him a fortune, but then he can afford it now.

A whiteness down below, caught by the bounce of a stage  
light, draws Pazzi's attention from the diva. The bright  
glow belongs to the starched French cuffs of a white dress  
shirt poking out of dark sleeves, the hands intertwined, the  
chin resting on them.

It's Dr. Fell, engrossed in the drama, lost in the harrowed  
beauty of the prima donna's voice. But then, the head come  
around like an owl's, the eyes peering up to the private box.  
Pazzi had a second of opportunity to look away but missed it,  
and now their eyes meet.

Pazzi involuntarily squeezes his wife's hand. The pressure  
draws a loving look from her, but Pazzi's is still locked on  
Fell's enigmatic little smile, much as he wishes it wasn't,  
until a crescendo in the music - finally - draws Fell's  
head and eyes back to the stage. Applause.

EXT. TEATRO PICCOLOMINI - NIGHT

A crush of theatergoers maneuvers for cabs.

DR. FELL  
Enjoy the performance, Commendatore?

Pazzi and his wife, waiting for a free cab, turn to see Fell  
standing behind them. He smiles pleasantly.

PAZZI  
Very much. Allegra, this is Dr. Fell,  
Curator of the Capponi Library.

DR. FELL  
Curator protempore, Signora Pazzi. I'm  
honored.

Pazzi's eyes follow Fell's hand as it reaches to and holds  
his wife's, his wrist bowing slightly. Allegra smiles at his  
grace and the graceful tone of his voice.

ALLEGRA  
Is that an American accent, doctor?

DR. FELL  
Canadian, wrung through the eastern sea-  
board of America.

ALLEGRA  
I've always wanted to visit. New England  
especially.

DR. FELL  
Umm. It's nice. I've enjoyed many  
excellent meals there.

Pazzi would very much enjoy leaving, and looks away hoping to  
see a driver interested in his patronage.

DR. FELL  
Did I notice you following the score,  
Signora? Hardly anyone does it anymore.  
Would this interest you?

From a portfolio under his arm, he produces a hand-copied  
score on parchment - c. 1688 - each page in a plastic sleeve.

DR. FELL  
I've marked in overlay some of the  
differences from the modern score, which  
might amuse you. Please take it.

ALLEGRA  
Look at this, Rinaldo.

PAZZI  
I can see it.

And both of their hands, Fell's and hers, on it.

ALLEGRA  
I did have some trouble with the  
recitative at the beginning.

DR. FELL  
Dante's first sonnet from La Vita Nuova.  
He saw Beatrice Portinari across a chapel  
and he loved her at that instant and for  
the rest of his life. But then had a  
disturbing dream -

ALLEGRA  
(reading from text)  
Joyous Love seemed to me, the while  
he held my heart in his hands, and in his  
arms, My lady lay asleep wrapped in a  
veil -

DR. FELL  
(continuing from memory)  
He woke her then, and trembling and  
obedient, she ate that burning heart out  
of his hand. Weeping, I saw him then  
depart from me.

ALLEGRA  
He saw her eat his heart!  
(Fell likes that as much as  
she does)  
Do you believe a man could become  
so obsessed with a woman from a single  
encounter?

DR. FELL  
Could he daily feel a stab of hunger  
for her? Find nourishment in the very  
sight of her? I think so. But would  
she see through the bars of his plight,  
and ache for him?

Allegra waits for the answer, but Fell doesn't have it; he  
just looks away wistfully as his fingers slide away from the  
plastic like snakes.

ALLEGRA  
Thank you for this.

Fell's nod says, I'm your servant. Pazzi pulls open the back  
door of a cab.

DR. FELL  
Commendatore.  
(as he shakes Pazzi's hand)  
A ... lle ... gra ...

It's all Pazzi can do to keep from arresting the man as he  
watches Fell rape his wife with a kiss of her hand. His head  
stays down there longer than it should as he savors the aroma  
emanating from her wrist. Finally the head rises back up and  
Pazzi all but shoves Allegra into the cab. As Fell watches  
after it driving away, a couple passes behind them.

THEATERGOER  
Let's get something to eat.

DR. FELL  
(to himself)  
Yes, quite.

The hand that held Allegra's when he kissed it comes up to  
his face. He takes in the residue of the scent.

INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - LATE NIGHT

Empty coffee cup and dinner debris on Starling's desk.  
Sitting at her computer, she types in a code summoning the  
FBI's private VICAP site. Navigating deep into it with other  
codes, she reaches a page with a query panel and types in -  
"cookies."

The screen fills with long lines of text - words and numbers  
and slashes and hyphens - the "fingerprints" left by everyone  
who has accessed the site over the last year.

Most have addresses within the FBI itself and Justice  
Department; the majority of the rest from Interpol and other  
internationl police organizations. The scrolling list goes  
on forever.

She narrows her search to show only those who have visited  
the VICAP Lecter files, then narrows it further to those who  
have "knocked" more than twenty times in the last month.

Her own screen name - "cstarling" - appears on the new list  
more than any other. There are also several flagged hits by  
"pkrendler." She smiles at one name - "jcrawford." He isn't  
supposed to be accessing the VICAP files anymore, now that  
he's retired, but just can't help himself.

The next heaviest user is a name she doesn't recognize.  
Someone who calls him or herself, "pfrancesco." She stares  
long at the screen name and finally whispers to it -

STARLING  
Could that be you, Doctor?

EXT. CEMETERY - FLORENCE - NIGHT

We slowly approach - from someone's moving point of view -  
a pair of young lovers walking toward us under the trees. As  
they draw closer - oblivious to us, and our breath, and our  
footsteps on the cobblestone path -

Pazzi enters his own POV. Once past the lovers, he takes  
out a pencil-thin Maglite and rakes its narrow beam across  
names on the chipped-marble tombstones he passes, the light  
settling eventually on someone called "Lorenzo Mametti."

He tosses a cheap bunch of wilting flowers onto the grave  
and looks around for whoever it is he's supposed to be meet-  
ing here. A shadowy figure emerges almost soundlessly from  
behind a crypt and Pazzi finds the face with his pen light.

CARLO  
Please.

Pazzi snaps it off. Carlo comes out into the open looking  
like a grave digger in his work clothes, perches on a squat  
headstone, and first offering one to Pazzi, who declines,  
lights himself a cigarette.

CARLO  
I want him in the open street with not  
a lot of people around.

PAZZI  
How will you take him down?

CARLO  
That's my business.

PAZZI  
It's my business too.

CARLO  
You're a cop, aren't you.

PAZZI  
I asked you a question.

CARLO  
Yeah, you're a cop, all right. I'll stun  
him with a beanbag gun, net him, give him  
a shot.

PAZZI  
He has to lecture tomorrow night. It  
won't be strange if I attend; he actually  
thinks I'm interested. Can you do it  
that soon?

CARLO  
Will you walk with him or are you afraid  
of him?

PAZZI  
I'll do what I'm paid to do and so will  
you, only I'll be better paid for it.

Carlo removes his hat and bows his head as if to pray.  
Someone is walking on a path intersecting theirs down by the  
mausoleums. The figure disappears behind the stone walls.

PAZZI  
I want him out of Tuscany fast.

CARLO  
Believe me, he'll be gone from the face  
of the earth fast. Feet first.

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - DAY

Starling glances from an international number jotted down on  
her blotter to the phone on which she's dialing it. A paused  
time-coded frame of Lecter at the Florence perfumery, taking  
in a scent on his hand, glows on her television as she  
listens to a European ring.

INT. QUESTURA - SAME TIME - EVENING

Pictures of Il Mostro's victims stare at the detective who  
picks up the ringing phone.

DETECTIVE  
Questura. Pandolfini.

STARLING'S VOICE  
I'd like to speak with Chief Inspector  
Rinaldo Pazzi, please. I'm Agent Clarice  
Starling with the American FBI.

The detective puts her on hold and shouts "Pazzi!" across  
the room to where Pazzi was just grabbing his coat off the  
rack to leave. He holds the receiver up, then cradles it.  
Pazzi groans. Keeps his coat on. Lifts the receiver of  
another phone near him and pushes the blinking light.

PAZZI  
Pazzi.

STARLING'S VOICE  
Inspector Pazzi, it's Agent Starling with  
the FBI. How do you do?

He was doing fine until this instant.

INTERCUT him here and Starling in her basement room -

PAZZI  
Actually I was just leaving for the day,  
can I call you back tomorrow?

STARLING  
This won't take long. I'd appreciate it.

Pazzi groans again to himself as he glances to the clock.

STARLING  
I wanted to thank you, first of all,  
for sending me the security tape from the  
perfume store.

The security tape? Pazzi thought he buried that tape.

STARLING  
When I say you, I mean your department.  
Agent Benetti. Is he there? Can I speak  
with him?

Pazzi is looking right at the young man pouring himself a cup  
of water at the dispenser.

PAZZI  
I'm sorry, he's gone home.

STARLING  
That's all right. I should tell you this  
rather than him anyway -

PAZZI  
I'm late for an important lec - an  
important appointment -

STARLING  
The person I'm looking for, Inspector -  
who was indeed shown on that tape - is  
Hannibal Lecter.

PAZZI  
Who?

STARLING  
Dr. Hannibal Lecter. You've never heard  
of him? He's quite well-known, at least  
in America.

PAZZI  
I'm sorry, I'm not familiar -

STARLING  
And the tape confirms that he is - or was  
recently - in Florence.

PAZZI  
Really.

STARLING  
He's a very dangerous man, Inspector  
Pazzi. He's killed nine people - that we  
know of.

PAZZI  
We know about dangerous men around here,  
too, unfortunately.

STARLING  
Il Mostro.

PAZZI  
Yes.  
(pause)  
You don't think -

STARLING  
No, I don't. The crimes of Il Mostro  
bear no resemblance to Lecter's in ... in  
style.

PAZZI  
I really have to go, Miss -

STARLING  
Starling. Just another minute. Are  
you sure you've never heard of him?

PAZZI  
I haven't -

STARLING  
Because I'm confused. I'm confused  
by that because someone there has been  
accessing our private VICAP files on Dr.  
Lecter with some regularity, on your  
computer.

PAZZI  
Everybody uses everybody's computer here.  
Maybe one of the detectives on Il Mostro  
was looking at profiles of killers to -

STARLING  
I'm speaking about the computer at your  
home, sir.

Silence on both ends of the line. A printout on her desk  
shows the Internet trail. Scribbled on a Post-It stuck to it  
is "pfrancesco = rinaldo pazzi."

STARLING  
You're trying to catch him yourself,  
aren't you, Inspector? For the reward.  
I cannot warn you strongly enough against  
that. He killed three policemen down in  
Memphis, while he was in custody, tearing  
the face off one of them - and he will  
kill you too if you -

He hangs up on her.

INT/EXT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - LATER - EVENING

As the sky darkens, floodlights across the piazza blink on  
and wash across the rough stone walls of the Palazzo Vecchio.  
As bats fly out from the jack-o'-lantern teeth of the  
parapets the image suddenly goes to -

BLACK AND WHITE - a security monitor in the foyer, on which  
a guard watches the creatures circling the building looking  
for darker quarters.

A clunking sound draws our attention, but not his, to the  
stairs, where we briefly glimpse the bottom half of a hand  
truck - with something big strapped to it - as it's pulled  
with some effort up the top steps.

UPPER HALL

The hand truck is wheeling toward us now, along the long  
hall, and we see that it is a lectern - as big as a pulpit -  
strapped to it. We watch it coming, and the worker pushing  
it - that same man again, the Palazzo's custodian - into -

THE SALON OF LILIES

\- where the restorers are climbing down from their  
scaffolding, closing up their cans of spirits and paints,  
packing up to leave for the day.

Metal folding chairs have been arranged on the drop cloths  
covering the floor in split rows of six. Fell is at a small  
table in back of them, setting up a slide projector. He  
turns it on and angle its bright white light onto a home  
movie screen draping off the arm of its metal stand.

He sees the custodian coming in with the hand truck and  
points out to him that he'd like the lectern up front, to one  
side of the screen.

The screen. It's too small. The projector light spilling  
way wide of its edges. The drop cloth hanging from the  
scaffolding behind it would work much better.

As the custodian unstraps and sets up the lectern, Fell takes  
down the little screen, sets it aside, and stands before the  
cloth, smoothing at its flickering folds.

The last of the restorers straggles out. The custodian  
unplugs and coils the long orange cord of the floor polisher,  
hand-over-elbow. Fell adds a brown extension cord to the  
projector remote and snakes it along the ersatz aisle between  
the chairs to the lectern.

He sets some books on the podium, places his hands on its  
sides to test the comfort of its height - it's satisfactory -  
and looks out over his invisible audience.

The custodian is finished straightening up. Fell watches  
him cross behind the back row of folding chairs, approach the  
open doorway, and pauses for a few moments - too many moments -  
to gaze up at the Botticelli before leaving.

EXT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - NIGHT

A great shadow rears up against the floodlit wall. It  
belongs to Pazzi, as he crossed the piazza, glancing once to  
Carlo and his brother Matteo smoking next to a van before  
disappearing into the palazzo's front entrance.

FELL'S VOICE  
Avarice and hanging are linked in the  
medieval mind -

INT. SALON OF LILIES - NIGHT

The "dragons" of the Studiolo - and Sogliato - face us in the  
folding chairs, listening to the lecture -

FELL'S VOICE  
St. Jerome writes that Judas' very  
surname - Iscariot - means 'money,' or  
'price.'

A ringing phone interrupts. The heads all turn. Pazzi,  
standing just inside the doors, gropes for his cell phone,  
extracts it from his jacket pocket.

FELL  
Ah, Commendatore Pazzi.

STARLING'S VOICE  
It wasn't easy, but I got this number  
without telling them why, Inspector Paz -

He hangs up on her. Switches off the phone's power.

PAZZI  
Sorry.

FELL  
Not al all. Welcome. Since you are  
closest to the lights, would you be so  
kind as to dim the lights?

Pazzi twists a dimmer on the wall and the lights come down.

FELL  
Thank you. You'll be interested in  
this, Commendatore, since there is a  
Pazzi already in Dante's Inferno.

An art slide appears on the drop cloth. Fell improves the  
focus with the remote.

FELL  
Here is the earliest known depiction  
of the Crucifixion, carved on an ivory  
box in Gaul about A.D. Four Hundred. It  
includes the death by hanging of Judas,  
his face upturned to the branch that  
suspends him.  
(the slide changes)  
And here he is, on the doors of the  
Benevento Cathedral, hanging with his  
bowels falling out as St. Luke the  
physician described him in the Acts of  
the Apostles - still looking up.

The shadow of a bat flies across the image, but everyone, so  
accustomed to the occurence, ignores it.

FELL  
In this plate, from a fifteenth-  
century edition of the Inferno, Pier  
della Vigna's body hangs from a bleeding  
tree. I will not belabor the obvious  
parallel with Judas Iscariot.

Pazzi, still in the back of the room, tries desperately to  
separate the legs of a folding chair without having them  
squeak.

FELL  
But Dante Alighieri needed no drawn  
illustration. It is his genius to make  
Pier della Vigna, now in Hell, speak in  
strained hisses and coughing sibilants as  
though he is hanging still. Listen as he  
drags with the other damned his own dead  
body to hang upon the thorn tree:

Fell's normally composed face pains as he recites from memory  
Dante's words of the agonal Pier della Vigna -

FELL  
Come l'altre verrem per nostre spoglie,  
ma no pero ch'alcuna sen rivesta, che non  
e giusto aver cio ch'om si toglie.  
Qui le strascineremo, e per la mesta  
selva saranno i nostri corpi appesi,  
ciascuno al prun de l'ombra sua molesta.

A single metallic squeak from the back of the room punctuates  
the last word.

FELL  
Avarice, hanging, self-destruction,  
with avarice counting as self-destruction  
as much as hanging. And what does the  
anonymous Florentine suicide say in his  
torment at the end of the canto?  
(pained)  
Io fei gibetto a me de le mie case.  
I - I make my own house be my gallows.  
(pause)  
Thank you for your kind attention.

Now there are, gratefully, a lot of chair squeaks as the  
scholars stand to applaud Fell and come around him to shake  
his hand. Pazzi has to step aside to keep from being knocked  
over by Sogliato leaving.

The lights stay dimmed. Pazzi makes his way to Fell and  
waits, as an autograph-seeker waits, for the last of the fans  
to shake the doctor's hand and step away.

PAZZI  
I'm not a scholar, but I think you've  
got the job. Can I buy you a celebratory  
drink?

FELL  
How kind of you. Yes, I'd like that.  
I'll just be a minute gathering my  
things.

As Fell takes his tomes from the lectern and carries them  
back to the projector table, Pazzi switches the power back on  
his cell phone. Nothing happens. He realizes he has pressed  
the ring/vibrate, not the power button, powers it up now and  
makes a call.

PAZZI  
Allegra, cara, I'll be home just a  
little later than I said. I'm taking Dr.  
Fell out for a drink.

INTERCUT Carlo, outside, watching the entry of the Palazzo.

CARLO  
I can see the people coming out now.

Back in the Salon, Pazzi hangs up. Fell gathers his slides.

FELL  
Oh, I should've shown them this one.  
I can't imagine how I missed it. This  
one will interest you.

He drops the slide in front of the projector bulb and the  
image appears on the drop cloth: a drawing of a man hanging  
naked beneath the battlements of this palace, the Palazzo  
Vecchio, from the exact same angle we saw on the security  
monitor.

FELL  
Can you make it out all right?

It's a little blurry but Fell works with the remote and the  
illustration passes back and forth across the plane of focus.  
Keeping the remote in one hand, he takes a rag from his  
satchel with the other, and approaches Pazzi, his silhouette  
against on the drop cloth looming large as he comes.

FELL  
There's a name down here, can you see it?

Pazzi comes close to look. The projector's focusing motor  
purrs as Fell works it with the remote. The lettering  
sharpens: Francesco Pazzi. Cheerfully -

FELL  
It's your ancestor, Commendatore.  
Hanging beneath these very windows. On  
a related subject, I must confess to you  
I'm giving serious thought to eating  
your wife.

He pulls at the heavy drop cloth. It comes down,  
enveloping Pazzi. Fell seizes him around the chest and  
presses the ether-soaked rag over the canvas where Pazzi's  
face must be - the image of his hanging ancestor splashed  
across the wall under the scaffolding.

EXT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - NIGHT

At the back of the van, its doors open, Carlo unzips a black  
vinyl guitar gig-bag. Inside is his beanbag stun rifle. He  
sets it next to the case and leans past the side of the door  
to check on his brother, Matteo, stationed across the piazza  
at the far end of the palazzo.

From Matteo's position - if he were looking - he could  
see that his brother Carlo would like him to pay attention.

Matteo is paying attention, only it's to a young couple in a  
car parked in the shadows across the street, necking.

A rock hits Matteo's pant leg and he finally looks up to his  
brother by the van, who is saying with the arm that threw the  
rock, What's the matter with you?

Neither one of them pays any attention to the worker sitting  
on the ledge of the fountain - the custodian from the Palazzo  
Vecchio - who glances up from time to time from the tip of  
his burning cigarette to the young lovers in the car.

INT. SALON OF LILIES - NIGHT

Pazzi's gun, his plastic handcuffs strips and his wallet sit  
next to Fell's work permit and permesso di soggiorno on the  
podium.

Fell himself is standing next to it, working the plug-end  
of the long orange floor polisher cord into a hangman's noose  
with the traditional thirteen wraps. Finishing, he crosses  
the room with it, the tail of the orange snake uncurling and  
slithering after him.

FELL  
If you tell me what I need to know,  
Commendatore, it would be convenient for  
me to leave without my meal. I'll ask  
you questions and then we'll see.

Pazzi is cinched to the hand truck with the same canvas  
straps used to secure the lecturn on its journey up to the  
salon. With his mouth taped, it's difficult for him to  
express his gratitude.

FELL  
Was it Mason Verger you sold me to?  
Blink twice for yes. Yes. Thank you.  
Are his men waiting outside? Umm hmmm.  
And one of them smells like tainted boar  
sausage? Was that a single blink? Oh,  
now you're confused. Try not to be  
confused or I may have to fillet Signora  
Pazzi after all. Have you told anyone in  
the Questura about me? No, I thought  
not. Have you told A-lle-gra? No.  
You're sure? I believe you.

Fell comes around behind Pazzi to the back of the hand truck,  
hooks the cord-noose around one of its handles and gently  
tips it back.

FELL  
Here we go. Hold on.

Pazzi struggles against the straps. He struggles to speak,  
to beg, but all that comes past the tape over his mouth is a  
purr. Fell wheels him close to a balcony, fully uprights the  
hand truck again, takes the noose from the handle, drapes it  
delicately around Pazzi's neck and tightens the slack.

FELL  
Your heart is palpitating. I can see it.

Pazzi's heart is beating so hard the fabric of his jacket is  
fluttering.

FELL  
No. That's not your heart.

Fell slips a hand under the taut lapel as if to extract  
Pazzi's heart. Instead he finds in there the cell phone.  
It vibrates silently in Fell's hand.

FELL  
Who could that be? Should I answer it?

Why not. Fell flips it open.

FELL  
(brightly)  
Pronto.

STARLING'S VOICE  
I've gone above you, Inspector. I've  
spoken to your section chief. Someday  
you'll thank me - or you won't - I  
don't care - you'll be alive.  
(silence)  
Inspector Pazzi?

LECTER  
I'm afraid I have bad news, Clarice.

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - SAME TIME

Dead silence except for a low rumble from the boiler room.  
Starling at her desk, like a statue clutching a phone.  
Finally -

STARLING  
Is he dead?

LECTER'S VOICE  
You got my note. I hope you liked the  
hand cream. I had it made especially for  
you.

STARLING  
Is he dead, Dr. Lecter?

LECTER'S VOICE  
Clarice, there's nothing I'd love  
more in the world than to chat with you.  
Unfortunately, you've caught me at an  
awkward moment. Forgive me.

INT. SALON OF LILIES - CONTINUED

Lecter closes up the phone. Switches off the power. Returns  
it to Pazzi's breast pocket.

LECTER  
An old friend.

He glances off with the faintest hint of wistfulness. The  
wall behind the scaffolding is still displaying the slide of  
the hanging Francesco Pazzi. Fell looks back to his great-  
great-great-great-great-cousin.

LECTER  
What do you think? Bowels in? Or out,  
like Cousin Francesco?

Pazzi's eyes blink and blink and blink and blink in terror.

LECTER  
Oh, now you are confused. I'll decide  
for you, if you'll permit me.

Flash of a knife as it comes up Pazzi's front. Another  
swipe as it severs his attachment to the dolly. One push and  
the railing catches Pazzi at the waist. He goes over it, the  
orange cord trailing, the ground coming up in a rush, the  
floor polisher yanked down and sliding across the floor,  
gathering up the drop cloth and slamming against the railing.  
Pazzi's neck snaps and his bowels, and phone, spill out.

EXT. PALAZZO VECCHIO - NIGHT

The lovers in the car break their embrace at the sound of the  
phone clattering to the ground, and stare up into the face of  
the palazzo custodian - Il Mostro - standing just outside the  
windshield with a big knife in his hand. He runs.

Carlo is running too, from the the van toward the palazzo,  
yelling to his brother -

CARLO  
Cover the back. If he comes out just  
kill him, cut him.

Matteo hurries around back. Carlo jumps the steps three at  
a time to the front doors as the security guard comes out to  
see the thing in color that he couldn't quite make out in  
black and white on his monitor.

INT. SALON OF LILIES - NIGHT

The great doors of the salon stand ajar. Carlo swings his  
gun around them onto the projected illustration of the  
hanging figure on the wall.

EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT

Matteo, knife out, stands before the back door of the  
palazzo. Breathing hard, he reaches slowly for the handle,  
careful to position himself in a way that will allow the door  
to act as his shield if it opens. He grasps the handle and  
pulls. It's locked. As the hand is letting go and coming  
away, the door suddenly swings open hard into his face -

INT. SALON OF LILIES - NIGHT

Carlo hears the cry coming from the rear of the building.  
He runs from the salon and down the back stairs, stumbling  
down them, catching himself, reaching the back door that's  
standing open.

EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT

He emerges from the doorway, leading with his gun, sees his  
brother on the ground, covered in blood, hurries to him and  
kneels. Matteo's dead.

EXT. PIAZZA VECCHIO - NIGHT

A crowd is gathering, peering up at the spectacle that is  
Rinaldo Pazzi swaying slowly back and forth against the stone  
walls, lit up as if in a stadium under the floodlights.

A motorcycle comes toward the square on a narrow side street.  
A figure steps out into the glare of its headlight. The  
cyclist slows to a stop.

LECTER  
Young man, if I'm not at the Piazza  
Bellosquardo in ten minutes, my wife will  
kill me.

Lecter's gloved hand offers a 50,000-lira note.

MOTORCYCLIST  
That's all you want? A ride?

LECTER  
That's all.

He hands the cyclist the bill and climbs on back, careful not  
to touch the young man with his hands, lest he get the wrong  
idea. The Moto-Guzzi turns around and speeds off the way it  
came, away from the piazza.

FADE TO BLACK

And out of the black materializes -

A BLACK AND WHITE image of Pazzi, small and stark in the  
floodlights, swinging against the wall of the Palazzo  
Vecchio.

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - DAY

The event, captured on tape by the security camera across the  
piazza, copied and sent by the Questura at her request, plays  
on Starling's VCR setup. As she watches it -

INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - DAY

A copy of a copy of the tape - at the same point in the  
action - plays for Verger. Noticing something - some move-  
ment in an upper corner of the frame - he reverse-searches  
the tape with his remote to look at it again.

The movement belongs to a silhouette of a figure appearing  
briefly on the balcony above the hanged Pazzi. An arm of the  
figure rises up and the hand waves - not down to Pazzi - but  
across to the viewer. Verger freezes the image and studies  
it for a long moment in silence. Eventually -

MASON  
Cordell? To you: Does that look like  
a wave goodbye? ... Or hello?

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - CONTINUED

Starling's copy of the tape frozen on the same frame. She,  
too, reverse-searches it and plays the wave again, no doubt  
wondering the same thing Verger is. Her phone rings.

STARLING  
Starling.

CRAWFORD'S VOICE  
Don't tell anyone but I'm sitting here  
watching an mpeg off the VICAP of a man  
swinging from a rope against a building  
in Florence.

STARLING  
It's an electrical cord, Mr. Crawford,  
and you know you shouldn't be doing that.

INT. CRAWFORD'S OFFICE - MIAMI - SAME TIME

The same image glows on Crawford's computer screen.

CRAWFORD  
Ummm, I can't see it that clearly but I  
can see his intestines hanging out. And  
the figure on the balcony waving.

INT. STARLING'S LECTEREUM - CONTINUED

She unpauses her better quaility tape and the wave plays  
again.

STARLING  
If I was concerned -

CRAWFORD'S VOICE  
You should be concerned. Where do you  
think he'll go, now that you've disturbed  
his comfortable life?

STARLING  
Not here. Somewhere else he can live  
without denying himself the things he  
likes.

CRAWFORD'S VOICE  
What does he like?

STARLING  
You know. Good food, good wine, music,  
books -

CRAWFORD'S VOICE  
He likes you, Starling. Seven years  
gone, not a trace, and he writes to you.  
You know what that means.

STARLING  
No.

CRAWFORD'S VOICE  
The stalker who says he likes you is  
far more dangerous than the one who says  
he wants to kill you.

EXT. VERGER'S FARM - DAY

The holes in the side of the livestock truck aren't big  
enough to see what's inside. The guard at the main entrance,  
clipboard in hand, jumps back when something bangs up against  
the metal wall of the trailer. To the driver -

GUARD  
You have to turn around - or back down  
\- go half a mile up the frontage road to  
a gate - then up the service road.

As the truck begins to turn around, the guard waves  
Cordell's car through. Barney is in the passenger seat.

INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - DAY

A man with glasses and a dry comb-over sits staring into the  
glare of Verger's bed-lights.

DR. DOEMLING  
I don't understand what you think he can  
offer.

MASON  
A second opinion, doctor. I know that's  
anathema to those in your profession, but  
it's not in mine.

Cordell leads Barney into the darkened chamber.

MASON  
Speak of the devil. Welcome, Barney.  
I'm Mason. This is Dr. Doemling, who is  
head of the Baylor University Psychology  
Department. He holds the Verger Chair.

BARNEY  
How do you do?

Barney sets down a pink dessert box tied with stirng and  
offers his hand to the doctor, receiving back for his trouble  
a limp shake. Peering into the lights he can see beyond them  
only the vague shape of the figure in the hospital bed.

MASON  
I see you've brought dessert. That's  
very kind. Cookies? I might be able to  
get a cookie down somehow. So Barney -  
is Barney your real name by the way?

BARNEY  
Yes.

MASON  
First of all, Barney, thank you for the  
wealth of wonderful items you've provided  
me from your personal Lecter treasure  
trove. I've enjoyed them immensely.

BARNEY  
Thank you for outbidding everyone. Is  
Mason your real name?

MASON  
Oh, yes. Please sit. Yes, beside Dr.  
Doemling is fine. That's his real name,  
too. There. Good. Now -

DR. DOEMLING  
Barney, if I could ask, what exactly is  
your professional training?

BARNEY  
I have an LPN.

DR. DOEMLING  
You're a licensed practical nurse.

BARNEY  
Yes.

DR. DOEMLING  
Good for you.

MASON  
Okay, everybody has everybody's real  
names and credentials now. Except mine.  
Mine are, well, I'm just very wealthy,  
aren't I? Okay. Let's begin.

DR. DOEMLING  
Barney, while you were working at the  
state hospital - I assume not as licensed  
practical nurse -

BARNEY  
\- as an orderly -

DR. DOEMLING  
\- as an orderly - you observed Clarice  
Starling and Hannibal Lecter interacting.

BARNEY  
Interacting?

DR. DOEMLING  
Talking to one another.

BARNEY  
Yes. Yes, it seemed to me they -

DR. DOEMLING  
I can see you're eager to justify your  
consulting fee, but why don't we start  
with what you saw, not what you thought  
about what you saw.

MASON  
Barney's smart enough to give us his  
opinion. Barney, give us your opinion of  
what you saw. What was it between them?

BARNEY  
Most of the time Dr. Lecter didn't  
respond at all to visitors, he would  
just, for instance, open his eyes long  
enough to insult some academic who was  
there to look him over.  
(he looks Doemling over)  
With Starling, though, he answered her  
questions. She interested him. She  
intrigued him. He thought she was  
charming and amusing.

MASON  
Uh-huh.

DR. DOEMLING  
You can judge what Hannibal Lecter found  
amusing? Just how do you go about that,  
Nurse Barney?

BARNEY  
By listening to him laugh, Dr. Dumling.

DR. DOEMLING  
Doemling.

BARNEY  
Sometimes Dr. Lecter and I would talk  
when things got quiet enough. About the  
science courses I was taking and -

DR. DOEMLING  
Some kind of mail-order courses in  
psychology?

BARNEY  
No, sir. I don't consider psychology a  
science, and neither did Dr. Lecter.

A small laugh from behind the lights.

MASON  
And about her? You talked about her?

BARNEY  
I can just repeat what he told me about  
her.

MASON  
That's why you're here.

BARNEY  
He said things like how she was  
charming the way a cub is charming a  
small cub that will grow up to be a big  
cat - one that you can't play with later.  
She had a cub-like earnestness, he said.

MASON  
Does she still in your opinion? Have  
you seen her lately?

BARNEY  
Yes, I have, and no, I don't think she  
does. That quality in her, I think, is  
gone.

MASON  
So Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter  
became ... friendly.

BARNEY  
Inside a kind of formal structure, yes.

MASON  
And he was fond of her.

BARNEY  
Yes.

MASON  
Thank you, Barney. Thank you very  
much for your candor. And keep all those  
wonderful products coming. Cordell, see  
that Barney receives a real nice tip.

DR. DOEMLING  
Goodbye, Nurse Barney.

BARNEY  
(picking up the pink box)  
Mr. Verger -

MASON  
The cookies. Yes, let's have one.  
BARNEY  
It's not cookies.

He opens the box. It's the Lecter mask. Verger stares long  
at it in reverential silence. Finally -

MASON  
How much?

BARNEY  
Two hundred and fifty. Thousand.

MASON  
Cut Barney a check, Cordell. Now.

Barney sets the mask on the bed and leaves. Verger hooks a  
talon-like finger over the wire and holds on. Eventually he  
comes out of his reverie -

MASON  
So what do you think, doctor? Does  
Lecter want to fuck her or kill her or  
eat her or what?

DR. DOEMLING  
Probably all three, though I wouldn't  
want to predict in what order.

MASON  
Hmmm.

DR. DOEMLING  
No matter how Barney might want to  
romanticize it and try to make it Beauty  
and the Beast, Lecter's object - as you  
know from personal experience - is always  
degradation and suffering. He comes in  
the guise of a mentor - as he did to you -  
and her - but it's distress that excites  
him. To draw him - if that's the goal -  
she needs to be distressed. If you want  
to make her attractive to him, let him  
see her distressed. Let the damage he  
sees suggest the damage he could do.

MASON  
When the fox hears a rabbit scream, he  
comes running ... but not to help.

EXT. VIRGINIA STATE PARK - DAY

A rabbit on a path, staring, listening, hears the footsteps  
before we do and bounds away back into the woods. Starling  
appears a moment later, running on the same dirt path through  
the trees, two or three miles into her five-mile run, working  
up a sweat.

She hears footsteps before we do, too, and, like a rabbit,  
bounds off the path. Stopping just off it, she bends to  
catch her breath, then picks up a dead branch.

The footsteps and the panting close in. She lets the first  
running man go past, but grabs the second one, throws him to  
the ground, straddles him and pushes the branch against his  
throat. At once calm but firm -

STARLING  
Don't say a word.

She needn't warn him; the young man seems too terrified to  
speak. Starling reaches behind his track suit, pulls out his  
.38, and keeping the branch tight against his neck, lets the  
other runner, who's running back now, know that she has his  
friend's gun. To him, again very calmly, as he nears -

STARLING  
Stop. Catch your breath. Take your  
gun out very slowly with your left hand,  
set it on the ground and take five steps  
away from it.

The second young man does exactly as he's told. Then -

STARLING  
All right. Who are you?

2ND RUNNER  
We work for Jack Crawford. We're  
supposed to keep an eye on you. To keep  
you safe from - you know - Hannibal the  
Cannibal.

STARLING  
Show me.

He knows what that means, and shows her identification from  
Crawford's private security firm.

She gets up off the other one then, tosses the branch away  
and walks over to the gun resting on the fallen leaves. She  
picks it up.

STARLING  
Okay, here it is: I don't need you  
looking after me. I'm not in any danger.  
If you talk to him before I do tell him  
that.

2ND RUNNER  
Yes, ma'am.

She returns the guns to each of them, first giving the one on  
the ground a hand up.

STARLING  
Sorry if I hurt you.

She leaves them, continues on her run. As the one she threw  
to the ground dusts himself off, the perspective changes to -

A VIEW THROUGH BINOCULARS

\- of the two private security men off in the distance.

They blur then as the binoculars are shifted. Trees, too,  
blur across the lenses. The view overtakes Starling, returns  
and follows her, focusing as she runs through the trees,  
staying on her until she disappears down a sloping path.

Lecter lowers the small, expensive field glasses. Returns  
them to their case slung over his shoulder. Crosses the dirt  
parking area to her mustang. Peers inside and sees no  
blinking red light on the dash.

He takes out a slim jim. Slips it down and across the  
driver's side jamb, tripping the lock. He opens the door  
and sits in the bucket seat a long moment before delicately  
touching the ten and two o'clock points on the leather-clad  
steering wheel where her hands rest most often. He leans  
closer to smell her on the leather. Then licks it.

INT. KRENDLER'S DC TOWNHOUSE - NIGHT

Krendler, just back from a jog himself, sweaty T-shirt and  
headband, sits with Cordell and reads a postcard from London  
sheathed in plastic, written in Lecter's distinctive copper-  
plate. Finishing, he looks up at a speaker phone -

KRENDLER  
I'm not sure I understand.

MASON'S VOICE  
You don't have to understand, Paul. All  
you have to understand is what it's worth  
to you.

KRENDLER  
No, I don't understand why she didn't  
turn this over; she's such a - straight  
arrow.

INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - SAME TIME

Looking at his speakerphone, Verger sighs. Maybe he's making  
a terrible mistake. Maybe Krendler is just too stupid to be  
of any real use to him. As if to a child -

MASON  
She didn't turn it over because she  
didn't receive it. She didn't receive  
it because it was never delivered to her.  
It was delivered to me for a nice  
gratuity to a not-so-nice mail room boy.

KRENDLER'S VOICE  
Oh. Ohhh.

The realization, and Krendler's look of admiration that  
follows it, only make Verger worry more about his stupidity.

MASON  
So what do you think?

KRENDLER'S VOICE  
I think you'd have been better off if  
you hadn't gotten her out of trouble in  
the first place.

MASON  
Woulda, shoulda, coulda - I meant, what  
do you think of the money?

INT. KRENDLER'S TOWNHOUSE - CONTINUED

KRENDLER  
Five.

MASON'S VOICE  
Well, let's just toss it off like,  
"five." Let's say it with the respect it  
deserves.

KRENDLER  
Five hundred thousand dollars.

MASON'S VOICE  
That's better, but not much, but don't  
say it again. Will it work?

Krendler considers the forged postcard again. Eventually -

KRENDLER  
It won't be pretty.

MASON'S VOICE  
What ever is?

INT. ASSISTANT DIRECTOR NOONAN'S OFFICE - DAY

Starling sits next to her boss, Pearsall, and across from  
his boss, Noonan. Krendler, too, is there, and a federal  
marshal standing in a corner of the quiet room.

NOONAN  
Would you identify yourself, please,  
for the record.

STARLING  
Special Agent Clarice Starling. Is  
there a record, Director Noonan? I'd  
like there to be since I have no idea  
what this is about. Do you mind if I  
run a tape?

She takes a little Nagra from her purse, sets it on the desk  
and turns it on.

NOONAN  
Tell her the charges.

KRENDLER  
Withholding evidence and obstruction of  
justice.

The marshal sets the postcard with the familiar-looking  
copperplate in front of Starling. Her eyes move quickly back  
and forth across the lines of words. She doesn't touch it.

NOONAN  
Like to comment? On tape?

STARLING  
Yes, I would. I've never seen this  
before in my life.

KRENDLER  
How do you account for it being found in  
your - office - your - basement?

STARLING  
Found by who?

KRENDLER  
By me.

STARLING  
I don't think you want me to answer that,  
Mr. Krendler. Let me ask you this: What  
possible reason might I have to withhold  
it?

KRENDLER  
Perhaps because of the nature of its  
content. It reads like a - like a love  
letter to me.

As Krendler comes over and hovers over her shoulder, it's all  
she can do to keep herself from slugging him.

STARLING  
Has it been tested for prints?

NOONAN  
No prints on it. None on the last one.

STARLING  
Handwriting (analysis) - ?

KRENDLER  
(before Noonan can answer)  
Did you ever think, Clarice, why the  
Philistines don't understand you? It's  
because you're the answer to Samson's  
riddle: You are the honey in the lion.  
Sounds like him to me.

STARLING  
Do you mean, Mr. Krendler, like a  
homosexual?

KRENDLER  
Like a nut with a crush.

Noonan, not a bad guy, chooses his next words carefully -

NOONAN  
Clarice, I'm placing you on  
administrative leave until Document  
Analysis tells me, unequivocally, a  
mistake's been made. In the meantime  
you'll remain eligible for insurance and  
medical benefits.  
Please surrender your weapons and  
identification to Agent Pearsall.

Looking steadily at Krendler, Starling takes out her .45,  
drops the clip into her hand, shucks the round out of the  
pistol's chamber and sets it all down on the desk. As she  
places her ID next to it, Pearsall asks her sadly -

PEARSALL  
Backup sidearm?

STARLING  
Locked in my car.

PEARSALL  
Other tactical equipment?

STARLING  
Helmet and vest.

NOONAN  
(to the marshal)  
You'll retrieve those when you escort  
Miss Starling from the building.

The marshal comes toward her.

STARLING  
I want to say something. I think I'm  
entitled.

NOONAN  
Go ahead.

STARLING  
I think Mr. Mason Verger is trying to  
capture Dr. Lecter himself for the  
purpose of personal revenge. I think Mr.  
Krendler is in collusion with him and  
wants the FBI'S effort against Dr. Lecter  
to work for Mr. Verger. I think Mr.  
Krendler is being paid to do this.

KRENDLER  
It's a good thing you're not sworn here  
today.

STARLING  
Swear me! You swear, too!

NOONAN  
Starling. If the evidence is lacking,  
you'll be entitled to full reinstatement  
without prejudice - if you don't do - or  
say - something in the meantime that  
would make that impossible.

Starling just keeps staring at Krendler as she gathers her  
Nagra and purse. Finally, she glances over to her boss and  
friend, Pearsall, who mouths -

PEARSALL  
Sorry, Starling.

She lets the marshal lead her from the room.

INT. DEPARTMENT STORE - DAY

Lecter, clutching a shopping bag, stands in the electronics  
department before a wall of television sets all tuned to the  
same channel, local news, a talking head with an inset of a  
photograph of Starling.

TALKING HEAD  
\- relieved of field duty pending an  
internal investigation into the charges.  
Starling, a 7-year vetern on the Bureau  
began her career with an assignment to  
interview lethal madman, Hannibal Lecter -

LECTER  
\- Doctor -

SALES CLERK  
May I help you, sir?

Lecter glances to the young sales clerk, a teenager with a  
name tag.

LECTER  
I was looking for some good steak knives,  
Toby, but I'm afraid I got distracted.

SALES CLERK  
Kitchenware, right over there.

LECTER  
Thank you.

The clerk walks away. Lecter glances back to the TVs to see  
that a black and white inset photograph of himself has been  
added to the one of Starling.

TALKING HEAD  
\- receiving information from him which  
led to killer Jame Gumb and the release  
of his hostage Catherine Martin, daughter  
of the former U.S. Senator from  
Tennessee.

Lecter glances over to "Toby," who is busy pointing out to  
a customer the features of various VCRs, his back to the  
screens. Footage of Krendler appears on them -

KRENDLER ON TV  
FBI and the Justice Department are  
looking carefully into the charges, and  
yes, they are serious. But I want to say  
this: Starling's one of the best agents  
we have and having known her for a number  
of years now, I would be very surprised  
if the accusations turn out to be true.  
It's much too soon to condemn her.

Lecter smiles at Krendler's image. He always smiles upon  
finding himself in the presence of bad liars.

INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - NIGHT

Silent. Still. Then the lock turning in the front door.  
It opens. Starling, looking weary, carries in a cardboard  
box, her things from her desk at "the office," no bigger than  
Brigham's was. As she passes us -

Later. Laundry room. Absently dropping clothes in a  
washing machine filling with water, she then slides down to  
the floor in despair, her back against the warm enamel -

Later. Living room. Pouring herself a neat Jack Daniels  
to the accompaniment of the first message on her answering  
machine, the voice sounding almost as tired as her -

CRAWFORD'S VOICE  
Hey. It's Jack. How you doing? I'm  
sure it's not as bad as it looks. I feel  
it's my fault. I got you into all this.  
Call me. Make me feel better.

She carries the drink to the sofa, lies down, hasn't bothered  
to turn off any lights. Drinks as the second message plays -

BARNEY'S VOICE  
It's Barney. Remember me? I got your  
number from, uh - I mean I know it's un-  
listed, but, I, ummm, I'm pretty good on  
the computer ...  
\- save a few bucks on my phone bill,  
don't arrest me -  
(she smiles; closes her eyes)  
I'm sorry, uh - about what happened to  
you. I feel bad. For you. I was, umm,  
wondering if you might want to call me if  
you get the chance - 555-7026.  
(in a firmer tone:)  
I think she's nice. She's always been  
nice to me. Polite. Don't you think?

Tight on Starling's cassette deck - the spindles turning  
the tape inside. Stack of other tapes she got from Barney  
lying next to it.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Do you know what a roller pigeon is,  
Barney?

Starling is asleep on the sofa now. Still in her clothes.

LECTER'S VOICE  
They climb high and fast, then roll  
over and fall just as fast toward the  
earth. There are shallow rollers and  
deep rollers. You can't breed two deep  
rollers, or their young will roll all the  
down, hit, and die. Officer Starling is  
a deep roller, Barney. We should hope  
one of her parents was not.

The tape reaches its leader an stops. The green power  
light stays on. Then it goes off, then comes back on again:  
an electrical interruption that is quickly reestablished.

INT. BASEMENT - STARLING'S HOUSE - SAME TIME

A basement window slightly open. A piece of insulated wire  
clipped to the alarm contacts. A shadow of a figure floating  
away from it.

The figure moves toward the stairs, passing a rusty bicycle  
hanging on the wall and some shooting trophies gathering dust  
on a shelf, and begins up the stairs.

INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER

The microwave oven's glowing reset numbers "88:88" are  
obsured a moment as the figure soundlessly passes. Ice  
tumbles from the refrigerator's ice-maker into the bin.

In the living room, Starling is still asleep, her empty  
glass resting on a wood coffee table.

A digital desk clock blinks "00:00." Tiny sounds echo in the  
dark house - the hum of the furnace, the whistle of a pant  
leg touching fabric on a chair, slick pages being turned ...  
a sigh.

EXT. STARLING'S HOUSE - DAWN

The basement window, closed now, reflecting the glow of  
sunrise. Power lines against the red sky. A pigeon sitting  
on the wire, calling out once.

INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - DAWN

Starling wakes in the same position she fell asleep. In  
front of her is her empty glass. Set down not on top of the  
wood as she left it, but on a thick magazine.

She knows that's not right. Sits up enough to see the  
cover of the magazine. Italian Vogue. Edge of a Post-It  
peeking out from the pages. She uses the Post-It to turn  
to the marked page. A glossy Prada advertisement for  
expensive - unsensible - shoes.

He's been in her house. Right here as she slept. She's up  
fast, rushing to her bedroom. The the closet. Pulling down  
from the top shelf the box containing Brigham's guns and ID.

She slams a clip into the .45. As she's loading the little  
.38, the phone rings, startling her. She stares at it on the  
night stand next to the alarm clock: 10:30 A.M. It rings  
again. She slowly crosses toward it. Another ring. She  
lifts the receiver. Says nothing. Hears nothing. Until -

RECORDED VOICE  
If you're not receiveing frequent flyer  
miles on your credit card, you're missing  
out on -

She hangs up. Returns to loading the gun. The cell phone  
on her hip rings, and a bullet falls to the floor. She pulls  
the phone from its holster. Answers it, again, by saying  
nothing. Only listens. Hears a little static. Connection  
to another cell phone probably. Then -

LECTER'S VOICE  
The power on that battery is low,  
Clarice. I would've changed it, but I  
didn't want to wake you. You're going to  
have to use the other one. In the  
charger. Hopefully the light on it is  
green by now.

The charger is right in front of her on the dresser. And the  
light on it is green - fully charged.

LECTER'S VOICE  
\- because this is going to be a long  
call and I can't let you off because -  
even though you've been stripped of your  
duties, I know you won't abandon them,  
you'll try to put on a trace. So we'll  
disconnect only long enough for you to  
exchange the battery in the phone for the  
one in the charger. Shall we say - three  
seconds? That should be enough. You can  
change the clip on a .45 quicker than  
that. So when I tell you to, disengage  
the dying battery. That'll disconnect  
us. I'll speed dial back. If you've  
succeeded in your task in the allotted  
time - wonderful. If not? Well maybe  
some other time. Are you ready?

STARLING  
Yes.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Go.

It looks like changing the clip in a gun - the low battery  
falling away from the body of the phone into her hand, the  
charged one slapped in its place in just over two seconds.  
She hits the power button. The LCD display lights up and  
beeps. The phone rings and she flips it open.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Very good.

STARLING  
Thank you.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Get in your car.

She begins gathering the guns and holsters and ammo.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Oh, all right, bring the guns if you  
want. But remember, if you get caught  
with a concealed, unlicensed firearm in  
the District of Columbia, the penalty  
is pretty stiff.

INT. STARLING'S MUSTANG - MOVING - DAY

She's in the far right lane of a highway. Keeping just under  
the speed limit. The cell phone rests atop the open ashtray.

LECTER'S VOICE  
The reason we're doing it like this,  
Clarice, is because I'd like to see you  
as we speak. With your eyes open. No,  
it doesn't excite me. Yes, it pleases  
me. You have very shapely feet.  
Call it out.

STARLING  
Exit 14-A. Three hundred yards - two  
hundred - one hundred - fifty -

LECTER'S VOICE  
Take it.

She veers onto the ramp without a signal. A van, several  
lengths back, takes the exit, too.

INT. UNION STATION - DAY

Starling enters the huge, echoing interior of the station  
with a crush of travelers and Christmas shoppers. She has  
the phone to her ear, and through it, can hear the sounds not  
dissimilar to those around her.

LECTER'S VOICE  
I thought, to begin, you might tell me  
how you're feeling.

STARLING  
About what?

LECTER'S VOICE  
The masters you serve and how they've  
treated you. Your career, such as it is.  
Your life, Clarice.

The place is not just trains, but also a mall of stores, many  
of them playing Christmas music. Outside one of them, on the  
second tier, Lecter, cell phone to his ear, watches Starling  
trying to sort out the cacophony of sounds down below.

STARLING'S VOICE  
I thought we might talk about yours.

LECTER  
Mine? What is there to say about mine?  
I'm happy. Healthy. A little nomadic at  
the moment but that'll soon change. You,  
though. You, I'm worried about.

Carlo and Piero, without phones, have entered the building  
and brush past people as they scan its interior, looking for  
and eventually spotting Starling rising up an escalator.

STARLING  
I'm fine.

LECTER'S VOICE  
No, you're not. You fell in love with  
the Bureau - with The Institution - only  
to discover, after giving it everything -  
that it doesn't love you back. That it  
resents you, more than the husband and  
children you gave up to it ever would.

Lecter is going down an escalator as Starling approaches  
where he was just moments ago, outside the Gap Kids store.

LECTER  
Why is that, do you think? Why are you  
so resented?

STARLING'S VOICE  
Tell me.

LECTER  
Tell you? Isn't it clear? You serve  
the idea of order, Clarice - they don't.  
You believe in the oath you took - they  
don't. You feel it's your duty to  
protect the sheep - they don't. They  
don't like you because they're not like  
you. They're weak and unruly and  
believe in nothing.

She's lost him. Peers down over the railing. Listens to the  
background sounds in her phone.

STARLING  
Mason Verger wants to kill you, Dr.  
Lecter. Turn yourself in to me and I  
promise no one will hurt you.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Will you stay with me in my prison cell?  
Hmmm? I suppose it wouldn't be that much  
worse than yours.

She hears a bell clanging. Sees a Salvation Army "soldier"  
in the far distance below, his back to her, his arm moving up  
and down, but can't tell if it synchronizes with the sound in  
her phone.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Mason doesn't want to kill me, Clarice,  
any more than I wanted to kill him. He  
wants me to suffer in some - unimaginable  
way. He's rather twisted, you know.  
Always has been. Have you had the  
pleasure?

STARLING  
I have.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Attractive, isn't he. But back to you -

She steps off the down escalator and heads toward the  
Salvation Army soldier and his little kettle hanging from the  
tripod, the bell in her phone diminishing proportionally, it  
seems, as she nears the live one.

LECTER'S VOICE  
I want to know what it is you think you  
will do, now that all you cared about in  
the world is gone. Will you work as a  
chambermaid at a motel on Route 66, like  
Mom?

STARLING  
I don't know, Dr. Lec -

LECTER'S VOICE  
Don't you want to harm those who have  
forced you to consider it? I know you  
never would, but wouldn't you like to?  
Wouldn't it feel good? It's all right to  
admit it. It's perfectly natural. To  
want to taste the enemy.

She stops moving. Listens. Hears Jingle Bells in her phone.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Are you thinking? Or tracking, Ex-  
Special Agent Starling?

Jingle Bells begins to fade in her phone. He's moving again.  
She turns. Carlo and Piero do an abrupt about-face. But not  
before Starling sees them.

STARLING  
They're following me, Dr. Lecter.

LECTER'S VOICE  
I know. I see them. Now you're in a  
real dilemma, aren't you?  
Do you continue to try to find me,  
knowing that you're leading them to me?  
Do you have so much faith in your  
abilites that you believe you could  
somehow - simultaneously - arrest me -  
and them? It could get messy, Clarice.  
Like Memphis.

She can hear another voice - both "live" and in the phone -  
"Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas" - and can see above heads in  
the distance, a department store Santa Claus in a painted  
plywood sleigh. She moves toward him.

LECTER'S VOICE  
What if I did it for you?

STARLING  
Did what?

LECTER'S VOICE  
Harmed them, Clarice. The ones who've  
harmed you. What if I made them scream  
apologies? No, I shouldn't even say it  
because you'll feel - with your perfect  
grasp on right and wrong - that you were  
somehow - accompli - even though you  
wouldn't be.

STARLING  
Don't - help me.

LECTER'S VOICE  
No. Of course not. Forget I said it.

She's closing in on the sleigh and the barricade of kids and  
parents around it, her free hand settling on the stock of her  
.45, Carlo and Piero closing with her several steps back.

SANTA CLAUS  
Ho - Ho - Ho.

Lecter sees her and the Sardinians pushing through the crowd.

LECTER  
Ho, ho, ho, indeed. I think I'll be  
going now. I have some shopping to do  
anyway. Chin up, Clarice. Merry  
Christmas.

He disconnects the call. Starling breaks through the front  
of the crowd, moving just in front of the sleigh to scan the  
faces all around her. Lecter is gone.

EXT. D.C. DOWNTOWN - DAY

Traffic crawls past Christofle.

INT. CHRISTOFLE - DAY

An armed security guard's glance drifts across Lecter  
pointing out to a saleswoman the Gien French china he'd like  
to purchase.

Later, she rings up several purchases as Lecter looks on,  
credit card out: the plates, a set of aperitif glasses and  
Riedel crystal, linen place mats and napkins, 19th-century  
silverware with a pleasing heft like good dueling pistols.

INT. HAMMACHER SCHLEMMER - DAY

Lecter chooses a set of exquisite copper saute pans and a  
couple of whisks. Elsewhere, a salesman demonstrates for him  
the adjustable height of the flame on a portable 35,000 BTU  
stainless stell grill.

INT. MEDICAL SUPPLY STORE - DAY

And finally, to complete his batterie de cuisine, he pays for  
a newly-new Stryker autopsy saw.

EXT. CHESAPEAKE BAY - EVENING

A late-model, but not new, Ford Ranger pickup pulls into  
the driveway of a small yet charming cottage nestled in the  
woods.

Lecter climbs out and gathers his bungy-corded shopping bags  
from the truck bed, including the one with the distinctive  
powder blue coloring.

He leaves the boxed Parker grill in back, at least for the  
moment, carries the rest of his purchases to the front door,  
fiddles with the lock to get it open and disappears inside.

INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - EVENING

Light bleeds along the edges of a scanner. Images appear  
on Starling's computer screen: Brigham's FBI identification  
next to a photo-booth picture of her. Using a paint-program,  
she replaces his photo with hers and prints it out.

INT. WINE STORE - ANNAPOLIS - DAY

As a wine merchant leans slightly to take a closer look at  
Starling's new ID, laminated now, she closes its leatherette  
holder. Christmas Muzak plays softly from somewhere.

STARLING  
You're sure it was Chateau d'Y quem.

WINE MERCHANT  
Not only was it Chateau d'Y quem, it was  
Chateau d'Y quem - sixty-seven. The best  
bottle of wine in the store.

STARLING  
Can I see the tape? If his car was  
parked out front, you may have caught the  
license plate.

EXT. STREET - ANNAPOLIS - SAME TIME

The rear license plate of the Ford Ranger. 10-foot Noble  
Christmas tree in back. The pickup parked across the street  
from the shopping center the wine store is part of.

Behind the windshield, Lecter carefully surveys the people  
and vehicles in the large parking lot and those appearing and  
disappearing in his side and rearview mirrors, well aware  
that one of them could contain the Sardinians.

INT. WINE STORE - CONTINUED

Starling has come behind the counter to join the merchant as  
he fast-forwards through a security tape on a small black and  
white monitor.

EXT. STREET - CONTINUED

Still in his truck, Lecter watches the parking lot across  
the street. He watches the trunk lid of a yellow cab spring  
open and the driver setting his elderly fare's grocery bags  
into it. He watches a man struggling to twine a big Douglas  
fir to the roof of a sub-compact that's too small for it. He  
watches a rolling, rattling cart without anyone attached to  
it.

INT. WINE STORE - CONTINUED

Starling watches the fuzzy video tape. Watches the man come  
in wearing a parka and mittens and a billed cap pulled low  
enough to hide his face, but can't make out the license  
plates on the cars parked outside.

EXT. STREET / PARKING LOT - SAME TIME

Lecter puts the same hat on, unlatches his door, climbs  
down. He crosses the street to the lot and walks past parked  
cars, a box in his hand wrapped in Christmas angels paper.

INT. WINE STORE - CONTINUED

The video tape shows the wine merchant returning from the  
back room, wiping dust from a bottle and displaying its label  
to the man in the billed hat. Through the window of the  
store now, if she was looking, she would see the same man  
approaching her Mustang.

EXT. PARKING LOT - CONTINUED

A slim jim drops down the sleeve of Lecter's overcoat into  
his hand. A barrel of a rifle, somewhere, rises. The blade  
of the slim jim slides down between the driver's side jamb  
and trips the lock. Something slaps at the air across the  
lot. Something silver embeds itself in Lecter's neck.

INT/EXT. WINE STORE / PARKING LOT - CONTINUOUS

Starling glances up at the air-rifle sound. Glimpses a  
figure outside collapsing against the open door of her car.

Squealing tires. A van racing across the lot sends a cart  
crashing into the door panel of an Audi.

The Christmas gift falls to the pavement.

Starling pulls out Brigham's .45 and the wine merchant  
retreats quickly to the back room. She runs from the store  
and kneels to aim at the van just as a Lincoln Towncar pulls  
up right in front of her, blocking her view.

The van's back doors fling open and two men leap down,  
grabbing Lecter.

Starling back on her feet, aims over the hood of the Lincoln.

STARLING  
Hold it! FBI! On the ground!

The handicapped parking placard and two old panicked faces  
in the windshield of the Lincoln. The screech of its tires  
as it almost runs Starling over as she comes around it.

The back doors of the van yanked shut from inside.

Starling running toward the van, then kneeling again to aim  
as it takes off -

An oblivious couple sharing the weight of a Christmas tree  
twenty yards ahead, blocking the clear shot she almost had.

The van sliding into the street and accelerating.

Starling running to her car and writing down the license  
plate number in the dirt on its hood.

Then seeing beside her slashed front tire, the trampled  
Christmas package. The box torn open. The Prada shoes.

INT. FBI DC FIELD OFFICE - AN HOUR LATER - DAY

Halos around the mundane contents of a purse as it passes  
through an x-ray machine; the visitor it belongs to stepping  
through the metal detector. Shouldering the purse she  
crosses the lobby to the elevators, passing Pearsall coming  
the other way. He strides to where Starling waits - on the  
street side of the security station - unable, in her current  
lowly status, to get any deeper into the building.

STARLING  
I know the first thing a hysteric says  
is, "I'm not a hysteric," but I'm not a  
hysteric. I'm calm.

PEARSALL  
I'll ask you one time. Think before you  
answer. Think about every good thing you  
ever did here. Think about what you  
swore. What did you see?

STARLING  
Two men in a van. A third driving.  
Another man shot and put into the back.  
I've given you the license plate and I'm  
reporting it all again to you, Clint  
Pearsall, at SAC Buzzard's Point.

He glances at the purse hanging from her shoulder. No doubt  
her Nagra is in it and taping. Finally -

PEARSALL  
All right. I'll go with it as a  
kidnapping. I'll send someone out there  
with the local authorities - if he'll let  
us on the property without a warrant -

STARLING  
I'm going, too. You could deputize -

PEARSALL  
You're not going. Unless you want to be  
arrested. You're going home where you'll  
wait for me to call and tell you what, if  
anything, we found.

He turns and strides away.

EXT. VERGER'S ESTATE - NIGHT

Cordell standing amidst several idling marked and unmarked  
police cars as the officers climb in and shut the doors.

OFFICER  
Please thank Mr. Verger for letting us  
look around. Sorry if we inconvenienced  
him.

CORDELL  
Not at all. He's always happy to see  
you. He also wanted me to wish you and  
your families a Merry Christmas for him,  
and to assure you this'll not effect, in  
any way, his annual contribution to the  
Police Benevolence Fund.

One of the plain clothes men speaks into a cell phone -

FBI AGENT  
Nothing here, Clint ... We're sure.

INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - SAME TIME

The flashing lights of the patrol cars flare across the  
black and white security monitors as the police drive away.  
Verger, watching from his bed, presses a button on a remote  
that dials a number.

INT. VAN - NIGHT

The ringing of a cell phone cuts through the voices and  
static of a police scanner. Carlo answers it.

MASON'S VOICE  
How is he?

Lecter lies unconscious, handcuffed and bound on the floor  
of the van. One of Piero's hands - perilously close to the  
doctor's mouth - feels for the pulse on his neck. The  
other holds a milk shake.

CARLO  
Sleeping.

MASON'S VOICE  
Bring him home.

EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT

The van's headlights blink on as it pulls out of the fast food  
restaurant.

INT. STARLING'S HOUSE - NIGHT

The phone rings here in the darkened house. The machine  
answers it.

PEARSALL'S VOICE  
Pick up, Starling... There was nothing  
out there... I'm going to say it again in  
case you didn't hear me clearly before:  
You are not a law officer while on  
suspension. You're Joe Blow. For your  
sake I hope you're just in the bathroom.

EXT. VIRGINIA HIGHWAY NEAR VERGER'S FARM - NIGHT

The police cars, their flashing lights dark now, pass  
Starling's Mustang, headlights off, parked on a turn-out.

INT. VERGER'S MANSION - NIGHT

Cordell's shoes move along the same Moroccan runner as in  
the first scene; only now there are others, work boots, three  
sets, moving along with them, and the wheels of a hand truck.  
They all cross onto the polished linoleum floor.

INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - NIGHT

The hand truck stops. Strapped to it is a singletree, a  
thick oak crosspiece from a horse cart harness, and tied to  
it with rope, Hannibal Lecter, wearing the famous mask from  
The Silence of the Lambs. Just coming out of the sedative  
from the dart, he squints into the lights surrounding the  
hospital bed.

MASON  
Hylochoerus Meinertzhageni ...  
Does that ring a bell from high school  
biology, doctor? No? I could list its  
most conspicuous features if that would  
help jog the memory.

Suddenly the lights go out, allowing Lecter - and us - to see  
Verger in the shadows in his bed.

MASON  
Three pairs of incisors, one pair of  
elongated canines, three pairs of molars,  
four pairs of pre-molars upper and lower,  
for a total of forty-four teeth.

Lecter is conscious, but seems not be particularly interested  
in the science lecture.

MASON  
The meal will begin with an apertivo  
tartare. Your feet. The main course -  
the rest of you - won't be served until  
seven hours later, but during that time  
you'll be able to enjoy the effects of  
the consumed appetizer with a full-  
bodied saline drip.

No reaction, that can be read at least, from Lecter.

MASON  
Much as I'd love to, I won't be joining  
you at the table since I can't move, but  
I will be watching a 3-camera video feed  
here, and I'll try to stay awake.  
(he smiles as much as he's  
able; then)  
I guess you wish now you'd fed the rest  
of me to the dogs? Hmmm?

LECTER  
No, Mason. I much prefer you the way  
you are.

MASON  
(pause; then buoyantly)  
So. Dinner at eight? Bon appetit.

EXT. VERGER'S ESTATE - DAY

Starling's Mustang creeps along the service road without the  
aid of its headlights. Up ahead about a quarter mile, in the  
trees, she can see the glare of a floodlight.

She stops. Pulls the trunk release. Climbs out and comes  
around to it. Rummages around the debris inside and selects  
four pairs of cuffs, extra ammo, a knife and a flashlight.

She leaves the trunk ajar, aims the flashlight down, switches  
it on and leads herself with its beam - careful to keep it no  
more than two or three steps ahead - into the woods.

INT. BARN - NIGHT

Lecter, still trussed to the singletree, prone now on the  
hand truck, stares up at the rafters where Tommaso sits in a  
cane chair, a rifle in his lap.

Below, one of three closed-circuit video cameras mounted  
on tripods watches as Carlo, not being too careful about it,  
pierces his wrist with an IV needle.

LECTER  
Your brother must smell worse than you  
do by now.

The blade of Carlo's knife is against Lecter's throat in  
an instant. From an intercom -

MASON'S VOICE  
No, no, no - don't hurt him.

Lecter smiles at the Sardinian. The knife slowly comes away  
from his neck, leaving only a little blood.

Piero meanwhile is adjusting the angle of a gilt-framed  
mirror hanging above the slatted gate Lecter's feet will soon  
be stuck through.

MASON'S VOICE  
And turn off that radio, I can't hear  
anything.

A shortwave radio on a wooden table that's broadcasting a  
soccer game in Italian. As Piero crosses to it -

EXT. WOODS - NIGHT

Starling, still, listens as the already-faint sound of the  
Italian announcer's voice fades to nothing. She continues on  
again toward the floodlit area beyond the trees until another  
sound stops her. Another recorded voice. Begging and  
screaming in Italian.

Suddenly, through the trees all around her, dark shapes are  
moving fast. She wants to but dares not point the flashlight  
at them; if they're armed, the beam may as well be a painted  
target on her chest.

She crouches. Catches a glimpse of something big running  
close to the ground past the trucks of the trees near her.  
Then it's gone.

INT/EXT. BARN - NIGHT

The wild boars appear in the reflection of the large-gold-  
framed mirror, jostling into a semi-circle like berserk  
linemen posing for a team photo.

Piero dials down the screaming tape. Carlo rights the hand  
truck, hooks a saline bag to it, and wheels it toward the  
slatted gate. Tipped back, rolling slowly closer to his  
death, Lecter begins humming Pomp and Circumstance.

INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - NIGHT

Verger, glancing between three monitors displaying the  
upcoming live event, glimpses something in one of them as it  
darts along the fence line of the pen, then disappears.

MASON  
What was that? Cordell? Did you see  
that?

INT/EXT. BARN - NIGHT

A boom of a .45 echoes in the barn. Tommaso, still up in  
the loft, throws himself down against the planks.

STARLING  
Hold it! Hands where I can see -

Carlo's hand swings around with a .357 in it. Starling  
fires once, knocking him back against the gate. Piero makes  
a move toward the fallen gun, but stops when he sees a slat  
splinter right next to it, the boars surging at the gate to  
get to Carlo on the ground just inside it.

STARLING  
Down!

Piero kneels with his empty hands aloft. Starling crosses  
quickly with a set of handcuffs. In the loft, Tommaso crawls  
along the planks as she disappears from his view. Down below  
Lecter cranes his head to watch Starling pick up the gun.

LECTER  
Good evening, Clar -

STARLING  
Shut up.

She kneels. Lecter tries to bend his head to watch her snap  
a cuff around one of Carlo's wrists.

STARLING  
Can you walk?

LECTER  
Well, I don't know. May I try?

The boars pound against the gate, trying to get at Carlo.  
Starling drags him a couple of feet away and pulls a knife  
from an ankle strap.

STARLING  
I'm going to cut you loose. If you touch  
me, I'll shoot you.

LECTER  
Understood perfectly.

STARLING  
Do right and you'll live through this.

LECTER  
Spoken like a Protestant.

She cuts one of his arms free, keeping her gun trained on  
Piero, still on the ground by Carlo. The boars shatter  
another slat.

LECTER  
This might go a little quicker if you  
give me the knife.

She hesitates. Then gives it to him. As he cuts at the  
ropes, she works to lock the other end of Carlo's cuffs onto  
Piero's wrist. As he removes the mask -

LECTER  
Clarice?

STARLING  
What.

LECTER  
My back was turned when you came in.  
Was that a warning shot, or did you kill  
the one in the loft?

She spins around, aiming up, just as the bullet from the  
rifle slams into her unvested abdomen. Going down, she pulls  
off three quick shots, hitting Tommaso in the chest.

As he falls from the loft, the boars come crashing through  
the gate. Piero desperately tries to get away, dragging the  
dead weight of Carlo behind him. Lecter lifts Starling from  
the ground, blood running onto his fingers.

Piero is pulled down. Lecter, holding Starling, surrounded  
by the animals, too, stands perfectly still as the boars  
ravage the three Sardinians.

INT. VERGER'S CHAMBER - SAME TIME

Verger stares in disbelief at the monitor that shows nothing  
but the moving mass of the boars thrashing around but leaving  
alone Lecter's legs.

MASON  
Why aren't they - ? Cordell -

CORDELL  
I have to go now -

MASON  
No. In the drawer - right by your  
hand. Open it. Open it!

Cordell opens the drawer revealing a semi-automatic pistol.

MASON  
Take it. Go down there. Shoot him.

CORDELL  
No, I -

MASON  
You're involved is what you are.

He's frightened is what he is. He's a medical doctor, for  
Christ's sake, not a hunter of madmen. He stares at Verger.

CORDELL  
What did you say - ?

MASON  
I said you're involved. In all of it.

Cordell seems to understand, nods in resignation, and turns  
as if to take the gun.

MASON  
Good. Now -

Cordell plunges his hand into the aquarium and turns back  
holding the writhing eel. Watching him approach the bed with  
it, Verger, for once, is speechless, staring at the serpent's  
clicking teeth.

CORDELL  
Good night, Mason.

As Cordell thrusts the head of the eel toward Verger's gaping  
mouth -

INT/EXT. BARN - SAME TIME

Lecter, carrying Starling, stares a couple of the boars in  
the eye, wades through them with impunity, steps out past the  
splintered gate and disappears into the woods ...

EXT. CHESAPEAKE BAY - EVENING

A pair of distant headlights floating along the shoreline.

INT. KRENDLER'S CAR - EVENING

Krendler, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice,  
speaks with an assistant on his car phone as he negotiates  
the dark ribbon of road.

KRENDLER  
I'll be out at my weekend place  
through Sunday. I don't want any calls  
forwarded. No, not even him. Nobody.

He hangs up. Wipes at beads of sweat just below the  
sweatband of his jogging ensemble as his destination, his  
weekend cottage, comes into view through the windshield.

EXT. KRENDLER'S COTTAGE - NIGHT

The car pulls into the driveway. Krendler gathers up the  
grocery bag from the passenger seat and carries it toward the  
front door of his cottage, which also happens to be Lecter's.

INT. KRENDLER'S/LECTER'S COTTAGE - NIGHT

Krendler comes into the darkened kitchen. Tries a light  
switch that doesn't work. Sets the grocery bag on a counter,  
pulls open a drawer and takes out a corkscrew. As he takes a  
bottle of cheap Chianti from the bag, he notices a simple  
strand of Christmas lights around a window. Doesn't remember  
hanging them. Stares, cocking his head the way he does.

LECTER'S VOICE  
Oh, good, you brought wine.

Before Krendler can turn, his mouth is covered with an ether-  
soaked dish towel.

INT. KRENDLER'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Starling's eyes open and slowly take in her surroundings:  
the small, unfamiliar room, the bed she's in, the night stand  
and the empty morphine vials on it, the silver tray with the  
crumpled bullet on it.

She eases the blanket down enough to see her T-shirt, eases  
the T-shirt up enough to see the bandage, ease the bandage  
away enough to see the stitched gunshot wound.

She hears quiet Christmas music and muffled voices from  
elsewhere in the house. Two men speaking in conversational  
tones. She drags herself from the bed, steadies herself,  
slowly crosses the room to, and down, a hallway.

At the end of it, she see: A decorated Christmas tree.  
An archway to a dining room, candles on the dining table.  
Krendler, in his running clothes and sweatband, sitting at  
the head of it. Lecter, standing beside a portable grill on  
a service cart, stirring at a saute pan with a wooden spoon.

KRENDLER  
Are those shallots?

LECTER  
Ummm. And caper berries.

KRENDLER  
The butter smells wonderful.

Starling glances from Krendler's face to his hands. He  
doesn't seem to notice or care that they're duct-taped to the  
arms of a wheelchair.

INT. BEDROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Back in the bedroom, Starling uses her teeth to strip the  
4-pin telephone wire that's been yanked from the wall jack.

INT. DINING ROOM - SAME TIME

As Lecter executes a modest flambe with a little brandy -

LECTER  
I hope you're hungry, Paul.

KRENDLER  
Very. What's the main course?

LECTER  
Oh, you never ask. It spoils the  
surprise.

Lecter notices, but seems unconcerned, as the line-light  
blinks on a telephone.

INT. BEDROOM - CONTINUED

Starling searches drawers for some kind of weapon as she  
whispers into the phone -

STARLING  
I don't have the address, but I think  
the house belongs to the hostage, whose  
name is Paul Krendler -

911 OPERATOR  
I have it from the phone number. Now  
if you can safely do it, get out of the  
house. Otherwise, stay on the line where  
you are. The response time should be ten  
minutes. I'm putting you on hold for  
just a moment.

Starling hears an unusual sound from the other room, but  
not so unusual that she doesn't recognize it: It's the whir  
of an autopsy saw. She sets the receiver on the bed and -

911 OPERATOR  
I'm back. Ma'am - ?

The phone goes dead as Starling yanks the 25-foot cord from  
the wall and wraps it quickly around her hand, taking it with  
her, perhaps to use as a garrote, as she leaves the room.

INT. HALL / DINING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER

She's moving along the hall again. Hears the whir of the  
saw grinding through - something - then stop. She picks up a  
heavy glass paperweight from a bookcase shelf and conceals it  
in her hand.

She reaches the doorway to the living room and adjacent  
dining area. Sees Lecter straightening Krendler's sweatband.  
The doctor glances up and regards her calmly.

LECTER  
Clarice. What are you doing up?  
You should be resting. Get back to bed.

STARLING  
I'm hungry.

Krendler's head slowly turns to follow her as she crosses  
into the dining room unsteadily.

STARLING  
Hello, Paul.

He doesn't respond. He seems in some kind of trance.

LECTER  
Paul. Don't be rude. Say hello to  
Agent Starling.

KRENDLER  
Hello, Starling. I always wanted to  
watch you eat.

As Lecter lays out another place setting of fine china (but  
not silverware) for Starling, she sees the spent syringe and  
the autopsy saw on a trivet next to the butane grill.

LECTER  
Would you like to say grace?

KRENDLER  
Me? Grace? Okay.

He bows his head. Starling and Lecter don't. She glances to  
the twisting pendulum of a hurricane clock. The doctor just  
smiles faintly, well aware of the response time.

KRENDLER  
Father, we thank thee for the blessings  
we are about to receive and dedicate them  
to Thy mercy. Forgive us all, even white  
trash like Starling here, and bring her  
into my service. Amen.

As his head comes back up, a single rivulet of blood drips  
out from under the sweatband. Lecter stirs at his beurre-  
noisette.

LECTER  
Paul, I have to tell you, the Apostle  
Paul couldn't have done better. He hated  
women, too.

Krendler smiles rather stupidly at Starling. As much as she  
hates him, she doesn't want to see what she thinks Lecter has  
in store for him, and tries to forestall it with conversation  
and requests -

STARLING  
May I have some wine?

LECTER  
I don't think that's a good idea,  
Clarice. Not with the morphine. Better  
you should have some broth.

Lecter sets about ladling her and Krendler tureens of it.

KRENDLER  
By the way, Starling, that was a job  
offer I worked into the blessing. I'm  
going to Congress, you know.

STARLING  
Are you?

KRENDLER  
Come around campaign headquarters.  
You could be an office girl. Can you  
type and file? Can you take dictation?  
Take this down: Washington is full of  
cornpone country pussy.

STARLING  
I already took that down. You said it  
before.

LECTER  
Paul. Please. Now you are being rude.  
Drink your broth.

As Lecter puts a straw in the tureen to Krendler's lips  
and whispers something in his ear, Starling eyes the sharper  
utensils on the other side of the table next to the grill.

KRENDLER  
This soup's not very good.

LECTER  
I admit I added a little something extra  
to yours. Perhaps it's clashing with the  
cumin. I assure you, though, you'll love  
the second course, that is if I can serve  
it before Clarice bashes my head in.

He commands her to show him what's in the hand in her lap  
with a smile and a slight tip of his head. She obeys,  
setting the paperweight weapon on the table.

KRENDLER  
Hey, that's mine.

Lecter rakes it across to him with a folk like a croupier.  
As Krendler shakes it and watches snow fall on the Capital  
building, he's oblivious to Lecter taking off his sweatband  
revealing the neat incision carved all the way around.

Starling can do little more than we can as Lecter lifts  
the top of Krendler's head off - staring in disbelief at the  
pinky-gray dome of Krendler's exposed brain. Lecter reaches  
for a set of tonsil spoons as the butter in the saute pan  
sizzles to a golden brown.

STARLING  
I really would like some wine.

Lecter, poised over Krendler's brain with the tongs, looks at  
her disapprovingly. She's holding out her empty glass like  
Oliver as the pendulum twists back and forth.

LECTER  
All right. But just a little.

He sets the spoons down. Pours some Chateau d'Y quem into  
her glass as he glances to the twisting pendulum.

LECTER  
Unlike Paul, I unfortunately can't  
offer you a job in government. But I am  
curious. What will you do now?

Right now her hand is slowly inching across the tablecloth  
toward a serrated knife. Lecter picks it up and one of the  
tongs and deftly severs the thalamus of Krendler's brain -

STARLING  
Doctor Lec -

LECTER  
You certainly can't return to the  
bureau. Not that you'd want to. Even  
if you could convince them to take you  
back after all this, the Stain of Rein-  
statement would never go away.

Krendler's eyes look up as if to see what's going on, then  
follow Lecter's hands as he sets his prefrontal lobe in the  
saute pan.

KRENDLER  
What did you say?

STARLING  
I didn't say anything.

KRENDLER  
I had plans for that smart mouth, but  
I'd never hire you now. Who gave you an  
appointment anyway?

Lecter picks up the tongs again to scoop out another lobe.

LECTER  
The brain itself feels no pain, Clarice,  
if that concerns you. And Paul certainly  
won't miss this - the prefrontal lobe is  
the seat of manners.

STARLING  
Dr. Lecter, your profile at the border  
stations has five features. I'll trade  
you. Stop now and I'll tell you what  
they are.

LECTER  
Trade? How does that word taste to you,  
Clarice? Cheap and metallic like sucking  
on a greasy coin to me. Your soup is  
getting cold.

He spoons out a second lobe and stirs it into the pan -

KRENDLER  
That smells great.

LECTER  
Have a taste, Paul.

He slides a taste of the "second course" onto a small plate,  
forks a piece and slips it into Krendler's open mouth.

KRENDLER  
Ummm, it is good.

STARLING  
Dr. Lec -

LECTER  
No, I think a new life lies before you.  
A better life. With me? Hmmm, there's a  
thought.

Is he serious? He seems to be. Krendler glances stupidly  
from him to her and back again.

LECTER  
I came halfway around the world just to  
watch you run in the woods. Run with me,  
Clarice.

KRENDLER  
Who's Clarice?

LECTER  
Agent Starling, Paul. If you can't keep  
up with the conversation, it's better you  
don't try to join in at all.

KRENDLER  
Who?

STARLING  
Me, Paul. I'm Starling.

KRENDLER  
I don't think you could even answer my  
phones, whoever you are. That accent is  
just too - Appalachian. "The Honorable  
Paul Krendler's office."

LECTER  
Paul?

KRENDLER  
What.

LECTER  
Remember what I said before? If you  
can't be polite to the other guests, you  
have to sit at the kids' table.

He sets the plates and sauce pan and all the utensils -  
including the knife - in Krendler's lap, and unlocks the  
wheels of the chair.

LECTER  
I'll just be a minute cleaning up,  
Clarice. Don't get up, Paul will help me  
clear.

As Lecter pushes Krendler toward the kitchen, he glimpses  
on the way the headlights of a line of cars coming silently  
along the shoreline.

LECTER  
Think about what I said, but don't drink  
any more wine while you do. Doctor's  
orders.

As soon as the door to the kitchen swings shut, she gets  
up, too fast, almost faints, sits back down. Listening for a  
moment to the scraping of plates, she tries again to stand,  
slower this time. she blows out a candle, grasps the stem of  
the heavy brass holder and with it and the phone cord, slowly  
crosses toward the closed kitchen door.

She slowly eases it open, revealing: Lecter, his back to  
her, scraping the leftovers into Krendler's head and setting  
the plates neatly in the dishwasher. He closes its door then  
and switches it on, and, keeping his back to her, begins  
wiping down the counters with a dish towel.

She eases past the door, gripping the heavy candlestick, and  
slowly approaches Lecter from behind, grateful for the hum of  
the dishwasher that covers the creaking of the floorboards.

Krendler is staring right at her as he shakes his Capital  
paperweight. She places a finger to her lips to tell him not  
to speak, and he glances away to the tiny falling snow.

KRENDLER  
Would you like to swing on a star -  
Carry moonbeams home in a jar -

The candlestick comes up and hangs there - as if Starling  
isn't entirely sure she wants to crack Lecter's skull open -  
but then it does come down hard right at his head, and -

Turning, he catches her wrist in his hand and pushes her  
roughly against the refrigerator, toppling the wheelchair and  
Krendler, the rest of his brain and some leftovers spilling  
onto the floor. Lecter holds Starling firmly in his grip,  
staring at her, intending, it appears, to kill her. But  
then, quietly -

LECTER  
That's my girl. If you hadn't tried,  
I would have killed you ... But don't try  
again ... I mean it.

He lets her hands go and she immediately lunges for him  
again. He grabs her wrists again, pushes her back up against  
the fridge, opens it enough to catch her pnytail in the door  
and shoves the candlestick through the side-by-side handles.

LECTER  
Oh, Clarice, you are the honey in the  
lion. In times to come, whenever you see  
yourself naked, whenever you see the scar  
\- the quality of the stitching - you'll  
remember this moment -

His face, his sharp teeth, come threateningly close to her.  
He kisses her hard on the mouth.

LECTER  
\- and your lips will burn.

He steps away, past Krendler and the wheelchair, picks up  
a small Tupperware container from the counter and walks out,  
leaving her to try to free herself.

EXT. THE COTTAGE - MOMENTS LATER

Starling comes slowly out onto the porch. Looks for  
movement in the dark shapes of the trees across the road and  
sees none. Looks out across the Chesapeake and sees nothing  
in its dark water - except that the little rowboat, once  
tied to the dock, is now gone.

Feeling faint again - or just tired of it all - she sits on  
the porch swing, slows her breathing and the pounding of her  
heart, listens to the creak of the chains and the growl of  
the approaching police cars, and watches the glare of the  
approaching headlights play across the dark trees of the  
forest ...

DISSOLVE TO:

A VERMEER

hanging in a gallery. Foreign museum visitors strolling  
past, giving it a glance before moving on. One man, though,  
seems unable to get enough of it, standing before it as if  
before a shrine as the others keep moving past. It's  
Barney. The painting, Woman Holding the Balance -

DISSOLVES TO:

A RECLINING WOMAN

asleep on a blanket on a beach. Starling. A beach ball  
and a Walkman resting beside her. The cord runs up across  
the scar on her exposed midriff to a light pair of head-  
phones. Instead of music, she hears static, before -

MAN V/O  
How are you covering yourself?

WOMAN V/O  
Polaroids, monkey business, and none of  
your business. I'm not going to run.  
One-point-five-mil, Ricky, flat fee.

The conversation is overtaken by static again. Keeping her  
eyes closed, Starling nudges the beach ball and the voices of  
the man and woman, just two tiny figures waist deep in the  
Miami beach surf, reemerge from the static -

WOMAN V/O  
No discussion. Just yes or no.

MAN V/O  
Yes. We'll make the transfer at the  
Sun Trust conference room in the vault.  
I'll bring my lockbox, you bring yours.

A beachcomber passes, walking along the wet sand between  
Starling on the beach and the couple in the water. Crawford.  
In the headphones Starling hears -

CRAWFORD V/O  
And we'll join the party, too. That's  
it, Starling. You just made us our ten  
percent. And all you had to do was put  
on sun screen.

She smiles without opening her eyes. Reaches down out of  
habit to adjust her top to cover the scar.

CRAWFORD V/O  
You don't need to hide it. Your doctor  
did a nice job. You can hardly see it -

The roar of a jet covers his last word -

DISSOLVE TO:

A RECLINING SLEEPING BOY

in a darkened 747 cabin, window shades down, movie  
flickering. Stewardesses move down the aisle gathering the  
last of the lunch trays.

Sitting in coach next to the sleeping six year old boy,  
Lecter, in Toronto Maple Leafs sweats, waits until he's sure  
no one is looking at him, then, careful not to wake the boy,  
reaches down under the seat in front of him, finds a box  
and sets it on his lap.

It's from Dean & DeLuca. Tied with a ribbon. Lecter unknots  
it. Opens the lid. Inside are Anatolian figs, pate de foie  
gras, a half-bottle of St. Estephe and some silverware.

BOY  
What's that?

Lecter sighs. Then turns to the boy and makes a smile.

LECTER  
Which?

BOY  
That.

LECTER  
Liver.

BOY  
What are those?

LECTER  
Figs.

BOY  
And that?

Something in a plastic container.

LECTER  
That I don't think you'd like.

BOY  
It looks good.

LECTER  
It is good.

BOY  
Can I have some?

LECTER  
You're a very unusual boy, aren't you?

BOY  
I didn't eat what they gave me.

LECTER  
Nor should you have. It's not even food,  
as I understand the definition. Which is  
why I always travel with my own.  
(the boy smiles; Lecter  
smiles)  
Are you sure your mother wouldn't  
disapprove of your accepting food from  
a stranger?

BOY  
She would.

LECTER  
Ah, but she's asleep.

The boy's eyebrows lift conspiratorially.

LECTER  
Which would you like to try?

The boy points to the plastic container.

LECTER  
This?

The boy nods. Lecter thinks about it. Finally -

LECTER  
I suppose it's all right. After all,  
as I'm sure your mother tells you - mine  
certainly did: It is important to always  
try new things.

As Lecter dips his fork into the appetizer and feeds it to  
his young, grateful, adventurous fellow traveler -

FADE TO BLACK


End file.
